


Clashing Steel

by OneFail_AtATime



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, Post-Season/Series 07, Reunions, Season/Series 08, podsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2019-12-31 23:18:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneFail_AtATime/pseuds/OneFail_AtATime
Summary: Arya and her sister grow close after working together to rid the world of Littlefinger. While Sansa confides in Arya about her concerns for the approaching war and their shared enemies, Arya can't bring herself to truly confide in her sister.Not even when an acquaintance she thought she had lost forever arrives in Winterfell and her world falls apart.





	1. Haunted

** ARYA **

 

Were ghosts of a memory dangerous?

She could only wonder as much as she stared up at the carved face of her father. Though the stone figure bore little resemblance to Ned Stark, the statue itself still held a commanding presence. Arya found herself wondering, on more than one occasion, whether or not her father would be proud of her and of everything that she had done. Would he commend her for the justice that she had served in the name of her family? Or turn away in disgust at the cold killer she had become?

She hoped for the former but reality pulled her towards the latter. Hadn’t her own sister been disgusted and terrified when she had stumbled upon the faces? Hadn’t Sansa been so afraid of her and her training that she almost ordered her arrest?

It had been Bran who intervened. Or at least, he had brought them both together once Sansa had gone to him after being torn between her own opinion and the mockingbird singing in her ear. But in the end, when their brother had revealed and confirmed the man’s treachery, it had been the Lady of Winterfell who decided that it was time for the bird to stop singing.

Arya had been all too happy to offer her blade.

It was a pointless pastime, wondering what life would have been like if so many different people had lived. But she did it anyway because being back at Winterfell with Sansa and Bran was changing her. She could feel it in the way she grew concerned for Sansa whenever she turned too quiet or when she worried about Bran and his visions. It had taken news about Jon’s survival as King in the North that changed the direction she had been traveling in and she had turned to ride north, to ride to her family.

Of course, Cersei was still on her list and she was determined to live to see the Mad Queen pulled from her throne one way or the other. It was one of the first few things that she and her sister had come to agree on.

Now there was another queen to consider. She had heard the rumors about the Dragon Queen while in Braavos. Everyone spoke of her dragons, of her beauty, of the way she had fought to end slavery in the Free Cities. The queen would certainly be a valuable asset in the war against the dead when her dragons and two separate armies were taken into consideration. But she was also the queen that Jon had bent the knee to. Arya knew that Sansa had been troubled by the news. She hadn't been there to see the way that the Ironborn and Boltons had destroyed the North and its people. But Sansa had. Her sister had struggled with the lords to keep them from turning against their brother. She had retaken Winterfell and ruled with a caring hand, despite all the troubles that the lords and their people tried to throw her way. Sansa had stood to defend their home against the threat from within and in just a few short weeks, a new threat would be at their gates.

It was a troubling thought, considering the last time that a monarch had come to Winterfell. Arya could still remember how it had felt to ride through the gates with King Robert’s party and the knowledge that she was leaving her mother and brothers behind. Her young self could have never imagined everything that was to come after that. Then it had taken her nearly seven years to return home, to return to her family. She didn’t plan to lose them now and that thought comforted her as she spared one last glance at Ned Stark’s image and moved to exit the crypts, pausing to stop besides the statues of her two brothers that had also been commissioned. Robb and Rickon were gone but she would do everything in her power to protect those who were left.

. . .

Locating Sansa was always easy. Her sister’s movements were fairly predictable. Either she was in her solar consulting with Maester Wolkan about grain stores and other supplies, or she could be found walking in the same circular path around the castle, talking with Commander Royce about the preparations that would help to protect anyone who sought shelter and safety with them once the fighting started. The number was growing more and more each day as the Northern folk retreated to the holdfast. The war had left so many with so little.

The sun had set by the time she made it to Sansa’s solar. Arya smirked. Her sister would be working by candlelight, buried underneath mounds of parchment and wouldn’t look up until Arya would creep up behind her to place her hand upon her shoulder, making her jump.

Which is exactly what she did.

“By the Mother, would you stop?” Sansa complained after jumping at the feeling of Arya’s hand on her. “The door creaks loudly. How do you keep sneaking in?”

Arya shrugged, smiling with satisfaction after clearly unsettling her elder sibling. Sansa met her gaze and smiled in return. After planning Littlefinger’s execution, a certain closeness had developed between them. Something that never would have existed when they were younger. But they were family after all.

The thought helped her to remember why she had sought out Sansa in the first place. Kneeling to stoke the fire, she sighed heavily. “I’m worried about Bran.”

Sansa frowned as she rolled a list of food stores back into place. “I noticed he didn’t appear for dinner. But then, neither did you.”

Arya ignored the accusation but turned back to her sister nonetheless. “I took bread to him and Sam since they’re both practically growing roots in the godswood.”

“And? Did you learn anything?” They both knew that Arya had been seeking out both their brother and the Night’s Watchman to learn all that she could about the Army of the Dead that was marching south for the Wall. She had soon learned the importance of Valyrian steel against the undead and had pledged every ounce of her strength to the cause in that same moment, though Bran was reluctant to share too much with anyone except Samwell Tarly.

“I think he’s trying to predict the Night King's movements and it’s only exhausting him more.”

“I can’t stop Bran from doing anything anymore than I could try to stop you. He’d probably just warg into some animal from the stables to get himself back to the godswood.” Sansa answered dismissively as she reached for a new set of parchment.

“We have to try and do _something_.” Arya pressed. “I overheard him talking with Sam and he’s been _marked_ , Sansa. The marks on his arm are from the Night King and they’re as cold as ice.”

This seemed to catch her sister’s attention, for Sansa set down her quill and turned to meet her gaze. The concern she held in her Tully blue eyes was so much like their mother that for a moment, just a moment, Arya felt as if it were Catelyn Stark staring back at her. A sharp stab of pain ran through her heart at the thought of their mother, forcing Arya to shake her head in an attempt to shake away the ghost of their mother.

Sansa was watching her carefully. “What else did you hear?”

“A bit. It sounded like something out of one of Old Nan’s tales.” Sansa met her gaze with a raised brow.

“You take men’s faces but what our brother has experienced seems fictional to you?”

“Fair point,” conceded Arya. Placing her hands on the desk for support, she lifted herself onto its edge. “From what I heard, this Night King has similar powers. He was created by the Children of the Forest, the same who later turned on him to help build the Wall. Bran was beyond the Wall, learning all this until he tried to spy on the Night King.” She turned back to face her sister and found that Sansa was watching intently. Bran clearly hadn’t shared much about their time apart when he had returned. This was news to her as well. “He can see everything in his visions but for whatever reason, the Night King can block him. Apparently. So when Bran was spying on the Army of the Dead, the Night King saw. And he reached for Bran. Marking him.”

“Is that why he returned? So that he would be safe from the dead on this side of the Wall?”

“It would make sense,” agreed Arya. “But I could see the mark from where I was watching. It’s like the Night King himself grabbed onto Bran. I don’t know what it means but I want to help him, Sansa.” Arya could feel a lump forming at the back of her throat, a telltale sign of all the pain associated with the idea of losing someone else when she had already lost so many.

Her sister seemed to understand because Sansa set down her ledger before reaching out to take Arya’s hand in her own, squeezing it tightly once she did so. “We can both try to talk to him this evening. Though … you’ve been missing dinner in the hall as well.” Sansa noted pointedly as she turned back to her ledger.

Arya rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Just because you don’t see _me_ doesn’t mean I’m not there, dear sister.” She said with the slightest tease.

“You just like hearing the knights talk about how terrifying you are.” Arya bit back the smirk of satisfaction, feeling the slightest glow of warmth at Sansa’s comment. Uniting against Littlefinger’s treachery had brought them closer than they had ever been as children.

It felt weird. Different.

“They’re afraid of you too.” She said smoothly, nudging her sister with her foot from where she remained sitting on the desk. “But mostly they’ve been talking about Jon returning with the Dragon Queen.”

“Mm, I’m sure they are.” Sansa answered coolly. Arya turned slightly in order to watch her sister more closely. Since the letter detailing Jon bending the knee to the Targaryen queen, the Lady of Winterfell had been publicly silent in regards to their brother’s decision, though Arya was learning all the tells that her sister’s face would give away.

Like the little twitch above her left eyebrow that happened whenever anyone mentioned the Dragon Queen. The younger Stark sister inhaled slowly, taking the time to push away her own thoughts. “Do you think he bent the knee for her dragons … or _her_?” She decided that it was best not to speak the ruler’s name.

Sansa’s eyebrow twitched once more. Her lips formed into a thin line as she gathered her thoughts just as silently as she gathered her ledger papers. Finally, her sister looked up to meet her gaze with the slightly shrug. “I think Jon is a man. Men can be easily swayed.”

“And you think Jon was easily swayed?” Arya fought the brief irritation that rose at the slight against their brother. Sansa held her gaze, Tully blue eyes staring into the Stark gray.

“You know what I meant. Jon is a man. Daenerys Targaryen is supposed to be beautiful. She has two armies and three dragons. Whether she’s coming as an invader or an ally, she’s still coming. After everything we’ve been through to take back the North, she’s still coming. After all the loss a-and t-torture, she’s still coming.” A rush of pain swept through Arya at the break in her sister’s voice. It took her back to the night that Bran had brought them together and told them of the plot to break them apart. They had plotted to kill Littlefinger that night and in the middle of it, Sansa had revealed the true horror that she had experienced at Ramsey’s hand. Arya had been thankful that the Bolton had already been taken care of or else she would have ripped the man apart with her bare hands. Her sister had suffered through things that she never could have imagined but she could understand the uncertainty and betrayal that Sansa must feel. They had found a sense of safety within the walls of Winterfell, something that neither of them had ever thought to hope for.

But there was a threat greater than a Dragon Queen coming for them. They both knew it.

“Her dragons could turn the tide against the Army of the Dead.” Arya reminded her sister gently.

The sisters locked gaze broke when Sansa turned away, her blue eyes now on the fire. “Yes … the Army of the Dead. So what does it matter why Jon bent the knee? We’ll have the support, no matter whether he gave up the North for dragons … or out of love.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Love is dangerous. It’s foolish.” She could feel her sister’s eyes on her as Sansa turned back to watch her.

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged, her hand moving to idly trace the pommel of her dagger. “Of all those ballads about love you listened to as a child, how many of those ended badly?” A soft scoff escaped her. “King Robert loved our Aunt Lyanna so much that he started a war for her and tens of thousands died. Robb loved his wife so much that he broken an oath with Walder Frey to marry her instead of Frey’s daughter. How many more died for that?” It was Arya’s turn to stare into the fire, her thoughts muddled. “Love,” she whispered, “it’s foolish.”

Arya fell silent and could feel her sister watching her with newfound interest. She knew what Sansa must be thinking. Arya Stark, the assassin, the Faceless Man, the Dark Wolf, was talking about love.

“Arya,” Sansa began slowly, her eyes focused on the young woman’s features, “was there someone? In Braavos?”

She swallowed and swore silently as she felt the slightest warmth of embarrassment color her cheeks. “No, not in Braavos.”

“If not Braavos, then where?” Sansa questioned, clearly eager at the chance to learn more about her sister’s time apart from her. Arya knew that she had returned as a stranger, a puzzle that Sansa had struggled so much to understand. The idea of her caring for someone must seem just as strange as the idea of Three Eyed Ravens and dragons and undead men. It has been Sansa who had listened to love stories and dreamt of strong knights as a young girl.

Arya was suddenly consumed with something haunting. It had been years since she had allowed herself to think about the emotions that she had started to feel in the time before. They had been something that she herself had barely understood so how was she supposed to try and explain them to another?

The memories felt like something that belonged to another lifetime, despite the fact that they were from a few years prior. She had been a different person with him, a completely different person. It was before she had been a No One and therefore, the memories should no longer have belonged to her. But it was now that they did worse than belong to her. They _haunted_ her. His ridiculous grin haunted her. When she closed her eyes at night and tried to fight the memories of her loved ones, his ridiculously teasing grin appeared between the sounds of Robb’s laughter and Rickon’s never ending questions. She was haunted by the way he would grin whenever she punched him for being stupid, haunted by the way it felt to lay against him in the cold of night and know that they were as safe as they could be with one another.

And she was haunted by the tears that she had refused to cry when she knew that he planned to abandon her.

Despite all her training, her face must have betrayed her because Sansa’s own face had fallen in the silence between them. Her sister looked almost _guilty._ “Oh, Arya. I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine.” Arya responded coolly. “He’s dead now and there’s no use talking about him.”

“But if you cared for him…” Sansa prompted.

“He was a friend I care for. Had he lived … I may not have become what I am now.”

“And what exactly are you now?”

Arya sighed. She was eager to change the subject but she was wary of the opportunity that the conversation had brought. Her return to Winterfell had brought her a sense of warmth back to her and she knew that Sansa treasured the moments when she was able to break through her No One identity to reveal a glimpse of the warm and outspoken annoying younger sister that she had been.

“It no longer matters.” She answered simply before turning to look at her sister once more, the slightest hint of a smile playing across her lips. “What about you, dear sister? Surely one of these northern lords have tried to catch your eye.”

“Some have tried but I’ve been married enough already, thank you.” Sansa answered in an attempt at a dismissive tone.

“Really? Nobody? Not even one of those handsome Knights of the Vale? I’ve heard that Harry Hardyng talk of how he would like to give you a proper Lord’s Kiss.”

“Arya!” Sansa exclaimed in a cross between a scold and laughter. It reminded her so much of the many times in their childhood when her sister had scolded her for one thing or the other. She wanted to laugh as Sansa was laughing when she realized that her sister’s cheeks were almost as red as her hair. “How do you even- I mean- where did you learn of such a thing?!”

She shrugged. “The whores of Braavos like to talk. And there were _a lot_ of whores in Braavos.”

This caught her lady sister’s attention. Sansa straightened her position as she turned to look at her with interest. “And you … did you…”

“I didn’t work as a whore, if that’s what you’re asking.” Arya answered dismissively. She paused as she remembered Lhara and Lanna with their smiles and teasing comments. “Essos is different, it’s … freer. The women I met were kind.” She turned back to Sansa with a smirk. “And they gave great advice, too, though I never took it. But if you wanted to get a little closer to that Harry…”

“I think I’m done for the day.” Sansa said suddenly as she shut her ledger and stood, her cheeks still aflame. Her gaze traveled to the window. “There’s still _some_ light. Would you like to go with me to find Bran?”

“He’ll still be in the godswood.”

“Oh, I know.” Her sister paused with her hand on the door’s latch. “You know, it’s a shame that Sam isn’t afraid of Ghost. If we can’t convince Bran to take better care of himself then maybe we’ll have some luck with him.”

“He’s not afraid of Ghost but he is afraid of me.” Arya smirked as she recalled the way that the Tarly man had jumped repeatedly whenever she had appeared at his side when checking on Bran. “Where _is_ Ghost anyway?” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen the wolf in nearly a day.

Sansa frowned. “Out hunting, I think.” They left her solar and continued through the halls down towards the courtyard that would lead to the godswood. “He seems to know that we can’t afford to feed him so he’s been going out on his own more and more. It must be taking him longer to find food each time.” Arya saw her sister’s frown deepen and knew that she must be thinking about their own food supplies. It was just the other day that the announcement had been made in regards to cutting everyone’s rations once more. Jon had written to say that Queen Daenerys would provide barrels of preserved meats and sacks of grain from her cities in Essos but as they had yet to arrive, nobody could take any chances.

They continued on their way to the godswood, only pausing in the courtyard when Arya had stopped to correct the stance on the Winter Town women who had come to practice their archery. She could feel Sansa smiling at her as she guided a group of women her age in the best way to align their torso prior to letting an arrow. After they had lost their Master-at-Arms two weeks prior to a fever that had taken nearly a dozen others, she had been the one to step in and instruct the majority of the townsfolk who came to the courtyards every day to train.

“You’re good at that you know.” Sansa said softly when Arya had returned to her side. “Teaching, I mean.”

Arya shrugged. “I’m no Ser Rodrick.” She admitted. “I still get frustrated whenever anyone says something about my size or my being a girl. If they say too much then … well, you know.” She broke off and both sisters smiled. They could both recall the morning, just a few days prior when Arya had knocked Lucas Corbray into the snowdrifts after delivering a sweeping kick that had unbalanced him. When the knight moved to charge at her once more in his anger, she had quickly unbalanced him yet again, only this time she had held her Valyrian dagger to his throat until the man had called out his yield. “When Jon and his men arrive, I’ll be eager to spar with someone new.” Arya admitted as they crossed into the godswood. “If you train with the same people for too long then you can get soft.”

“I don’t think anyone would mistake you for being soft.” Sansa said dryly as they came to a stop in front of the great weirwood where Bran sat in his wheelchair, staring off into the unknown. He turned when Sansa called out his name.

“I cannot talk,” whispered Bran. “Please, just let me see.” He turned back to touch the weirwood only for Arya to catch his hand.

“We’re worried about you, Bran. In these last few days, you’ve been so _consumed_.”

“I have to understand.” Bran explained, turning to look up at his sister. His dark eyes were pleading. “I _need_ to understand.”

Sansa knelt beside his chair, taking his other hand into her own. “But what, Bran? What do you need to understand?”

Bran slumped downwards, pulling both his hands from his sisters’ grasps. “I don’t know,” he admitted in defeat. “But I am so close. There were men beyond the Wall. I need to see.”

“Beyond the Wall?” Arya questioned, searching her brother’s now expressionless face for answers. “Were they fighting the Night King?”

It was then that the sisters heard the sound of footsteps. Both turned to see Samwell Tarly standing a few feet behind the siblings. When Arya turned back to Bran, it was to see that he had already reached out to touch the great weirwood. His eyes were clouded in a clear sign that he was searching somewhere that none of them could imagine. Arya turned back to the Night’s Watchman to see that Sansa had moved towards him.

“What does he mean by beyond the Wall? What has he been trying to see?” Sansa demanded.

Sam took a step back, startled by the redhead’s question. He looked from one sister to the other, clearly conflicted over betraying Bran’s confidence. “I-I I don’t exactly know, Lady Sansa. There’s a lot that he tries to learn with the visions. He tries to learn of the past, of the present. I left for dinner earlier and he had mentioned something about the sea.”

“He can’t keep doing this to himself.” Sansa’s voice was strained as she glanced over her shoulder at her mystery of her brother.

 Arya remained silent, watching the scene between the two play out before her. It was clear that they all cared for Bran though Sam seemed to understand what the visions of The Three Eyed Raven could mean. Upon arriving at Winterfell, the man had practically been glued to her brother’s side when he wasn’t with his Wilding wife and son. They were always whispering about one thing or the other while Sam pushed her brother to and from the godswood. He seemed to have grown close with her brother. Or as close as one could get with an emotionless greenseer who had no filter.

A strangled gasp caught their attention and all three turned to see that Bran had fallen from his wheeled chair and was twisting in the snow, his hand now clutching at the root of the tree. Arya was the first to arrive at his side, cradling his head in her lap as she shook him, trying to desperately pull him from his vision. “Bran! You need to wake up. Can you hear me? You need to wake up.” Arya said firmly as she shook his shoulder. Sansa’s terrified face was inches from her own. Her sister looked paler by the second.

“Run for Maester Wolkan.” Sansa ordered, her startled blue eyes never leaving Bran. His body had stopped shaking and his eyes had closed, though he didn’t seem to respond to anything that Arya had said. “Now!” She repeated when she failed to hear the sound of Sam’s footsteps behind her. Her gaze met Arya’s once more. “I’ve never seen this happen.”

“It’s his vision. Something’s happened in his vision.” Arya whispered, her voice soft and tender with concern for their younger brother. She found herself pushing the hair back from his face so that she could see just how pale he had gotten in those few moments. “We need to get him back into the chair.”

Sansa nodded in agreement and moved to take Bran by his legs. The sisters steadied themselves as Arya wrapped her arms around his waist, but when they moved to lift him, Bran’s grip on the weirwood’s root tightened and he began to shake once more. The Stark sisters knelt beside him in horror. “He’s connected to the tree,” whispered Sansa. She reached to cover Bran’s hand with her own. “We can’t move him.”

“We can’t risk hurting him if we try to break the connection.” Arya agreed. She moved so that Bran’s head was in her lap once more. “Sansa, what…”

“He’s going to be okay.” Sansa whispered softly as she too moved to kneel next to their brother.

The seconds that passed between them felt like hours as the sisters sat in silence. Arya couldn’t bring herself to say anything else. She knew that Sansa would be thinking versions of her same thoughts: that they should have reached out to Bran sooner, that they should have done more to get information from him about the Night King, that they should have instructed Maester Wolkan and Sam to be more careful. But none of it mattered in that moment because Bran remained still as one of the statues in their crypt, his face becoming paler with each passing moment. Arya felt Sansa’s hand come to wrap around her own, squeezing it as if trying to convey all her emotions through one touch. She could tell by the way that Sansa gripped her hand that her sister was struggling to keep her emotions in check.

“What do you think-“

But what Sansa thought couldn’t be answered because Bran had started to shake violently, his head and torso thrashing as his hand remained wrapped around the tree’s root. Arya met Sansa’s gaze in alarm. How long had it been since they had sent for Maester Wolkan? In stress of the moment, her father’s own haunting words came back to her. They had been the same words that she had said to Sansa when they stood atop the battlements the day before.

_‘In winter we must protect ourselves, look after one another.’_

Her little brother was hurt. He was in pain and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. All her time spent training and there was nothing she could do except cradle his head in her arms and repeatedly command him to wake up. Zhe watched in horror as her brother continued to shake. It was all she could do to control her own emotions as she watched Bran thrash in his arms and Sansa cry out at her side.

Until he stopped.

Bran’s shaking stopped in one sudden moment and he awoke with a strangled gasp, blinking into his surroundings in the godswood that was now dark with night approaching. Sansa leaned in to wrap her arms around her brother, smoothing back his hair as she whispered in his ear. Tears stained her cheeks.

“Bran,” Arya began as she trained her gray gaze on his pale features, “tell us what you saw.”

“The Wall.” Bran gasped as Sansa released him. His eyes were wide with fear and Arya realized in that moment that it was probably the most emotion that she had seen him show since she had returned to Winterfell. His voice was haunted, hollow. “The Wall is gone.”

“That can’t be possible.” Sansa said, shaking her head as if attempting to block out his words. Arya knew what Sansa would be telling herself. She would be remembering that the Wall had stood for thousands of years, that it was 700 feet high and one hundred leagues long. From any builder’s perspective, it was indestructible.

Arya knew better. Nothing was certain, nothing was forever. Just as all men must die, all things could be destroyed.

“How did it happen, Bran? What did you see?” She pressed, her gaze now locked with his.

Bran inhaled deeply, fighting for the breath that seemed to escape him. A strangled sound escape him and his eyes went white once more as he fell into a vision once more.

“Dragon fire brought down the Wall.” He said, his voice now eerily calm as all emotion seemed to have left him once more. “The Night King has a dragon.”

 

 


	2. In My Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry travels with Jon and Daenerys while he struggles with memories of the friend he had lost so long ago. Along the route towards Winterfell, he is surprised by news of the family he didn't think he had, just before more devastating news reaches them all.
> 
> Chapter Song - In My Veins by Andrew Belle.

GENDRY

Each step they took brought them closer to Winterfell and made Gendry even more apprehensive. The men around him buzzed with excitement but Gendry had forced himself to remain silent. He didn’t want to think about how he was approaching Arya’s childhood home or how he had yet to tell Jon that he had even known his sister. He didn’t want to think about the stories Arya had whispered to him about the North and its people during the nights on the road where sleep avoided them. And he certainly didn’t want to think about how he should have stayed at her side no matter what so that they could be riding through the gates of Winterfell together.

_I failed her more than once._

Gendry didn’t want to think of any of those things and so he focused on the moving army. There were weapons to make and weapons to transport as more lords sent bannermen and provisions to meet them on the road. Every night they stopped to make camp gave him the opportunity to work with the dragonglass that they had brought with them. It was an interesting material, unlike any metal he had worked with before. He wondered how a substance so brittle could bring down something like a White Walker. In that moment, there on the road, he was thankful for the dragonglass. It gave him a purpose.

Because what had he done since leaving King’s Landing? Bashed a few wights and run a marathon while leaving the group behind? And though Davos had probably told him a few dozen times that he had saved them all, he certainly didn’t feel as if he had saved anyone.

_I certainly didn’t save her._

Arya Stark was never far from his mind those days. Fighting alongside her brother didn’t give him the opportunity for much peace in that area. All it took was for the king to say something in a particular tone or glare a certain way and Gendry would be right back to where he had been five years prior. His mind would wander through the long list of questions that he always asked himself about the young wolf girl and what had happened to her since their parting.

Weeks with the King in the North and the man had yet to speak of his younger sister, beyond a slight comment or musing. It brought an ache to Gendry’s chest each time it happened. Surely, had Arya been alive, then the King would have said far more about his fiery younger sibling who had the determination that would help her cut down half their opponents with sheer will. Jon’s lack of commentary had helped Gendry to accept the fact that Arya Stark was truly dead and gone, though her memory could never quite leave him.

And it was accepting that truth that brought around so many sleepless nights because of the nightmares that came with it.

The blacksmith turned warrior was pulled from his torturous thoughts by the sailors calling for help in assisting the party that had just returned. He lost himself in the bustle of men running back and forth across the deck and was thankful to find a moment of peace in the chaos, even if it was only truly a moment.

His time of peace broke later that evening when Arya Stark herself forced herself back into his thoughts. He was standing with his back to the ship’s railing as he examined the dragonglass dagger for what must have been the hundredth time. It was when Jon approached him. “We’ll be in Winterfell soon. You’ll have a proper forge there.”

“Your Grace, I couldn’t poss-“

“Please don’t call me that.” Jon said suddenly, his eyes dark. “I don’t feel like a king.” Gendry was struck, yet again, by the similarities between the king and his sister. Memories of Arya punching and throwing things at him came rushing back beyond the inner wall he tried to force them behind. Would he be forever tortured by those memories?

Jon broke through his thoughts. “Anyway, I’ve seen the way you’ve been handling that dagger. I bet you’re dying to get to work more with some of that raw ‘glass.”

“It’s an impressive material, that’s for sure. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to get it to a forge.”

“Then you’ll have the master forge in Winterfell as soon as we make it there.”

 _Winter **hell**_. Gendry recalled as he fought the urge to smile at the memory of himself, Arya, and, Hot Pie at the Crossroads. She had cried against his shoulder that evening when everyone else was asleep. She hadn’t wanted anyone to see her cry at the loss of a friend. In that moment, he swore he could somehow still feel her warm, wet tears on the back of his shoulder as she had pressed against him in the night.

He was relieved when Jon began to speak once more. “You know, I never got a chance to properly thank you for all that you’ve done. This wasn’t your war and you’re fighting anyway. It wasn’t your life to save but you kept running.”

“Running and rowing. It’s all I’m good for. Ask Davos.”

Both men laughed. “Ah, Davos. I think we both owe him a good deal.” Jon paused. “He said you should be knighted, you know.” The King in the North turned slightly. Gendry knew that the king was watching him, that he was looking to see a look of gratitude or surprise. But all Gendry felt was sad.

_I’m going to stay on and smith for the Brotherhood._

Damn his brain. Once again, Gendry fought a rush of memories as he turned to face the king. “Beric Dondarrion knighted me those years ago. Before he sold me to the Red Witch, of course. Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill.” His eyes darkened as his mind took him back to another time.

Jon chuckled, dragging Gendry back to the present. “Good then. I couldn’t stand the kneeling and words of a knighting ceremony right now.”

The blacksmith turned to face the man he called king. “You’re not like most highborns, Your Grace.”

His comment made Jon laugh. “I wasn’t raised like most highborns. Yes, I was educated and trained, but I was also hidden away. Lady Stark was offended with a bastard present.”

“Damn us bastards,” mumbled Gendry. “All we did wrong was be born.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “Isn’t that the truth?” A sudden chuckled escaped him. “My sister always used to say that bastards were the best.”

Gendry didn’t have to ask which sister had told him that. He could practically hear Arya say it herself.

A silence fell between them. Unbeknownst to the other, both were thinking of the same Stark with fond memories and a similar expression. Gendry began to fiddle with the dragonglass dagger once more, drawing Jon’s attention. “Now, do you have a lot of experience with different weapons?”

Gendry shrugged, running the blade of the dagger against his palm. “I’ve made all sorts since I started smithing. The Brotherhood saw that I managed what the men had or needed. The lords of King’s Landing had the same needs.”

Jon nodded enthusiastically. “Good, good. I’ve seen you handle yourself with the weaponry and if you’ve helped to arm others then you’ll do a good job.”

“I don’t … understand…” confessed Gendry.

“I’m naming you my Weaponry Commander.” Jon said simply, as if the statement was obvious. He said it in a tone that was just so _Arya_ that to Gendry, it felt like a blade cutting through his abdomen.

“Your Grace, I don’t think-“

“We’re headed into a war where we’ll need thousands of dragonglass weapons made.” Jon explained, as if it even needed to be stated. “You’re a knight already and from what Davos goes on about, you’re damn good at making just about any weapon. And I need someone I can trust to keep track of all that we need. You’re going to be that person.”

“Really, I don’t think-“

Jon sighed out of frustration. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re stubborn, Waters?”

“I’m sure they could say the same to you, Snow.” Gendry quipped before he even realized he was saying it.

The king’s barking laugh was a surprised reaction to Gendry. “And that’s the fighting spirit we’re going to need.” Jon turned to face him, his eyes still laughing.

“So, what’d’ya say? Help me wrangle the Northmen together and see that they’re properly armed? Partner with my Master-at-Arms?”

Gendry was still unsure. “You want a bastard as a commander?”

Jon smiled. “I’m a bastard king. Besides, it’s a _friend_ I want as a commander.”

There was a calm between them and for what would be the hundredth time since their meeting, Gendry tried to speak the truth. It had been too painful to mention Arya at Dragonstone. Then it had been too painful to mention her beyond the Wall.

Perhaps, it would just always be painful.

So no, he couldn’t say anything about Arya. Not just yet.

Instead, he bowed his head in gratitude.

“You honor me, ser.”

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

The days dragged on but Gendry felt a sense of pride in his new work. He enjoyed overseeing the transport of needed materials. He enjoyed meeting with Jon, the Dragon Queen, and their advisors whenever they requested a detailed report. He enjoyed surprising them all with his detailed accounts of the new weapons that were being made even as they continued to march north. They hadn’t expected a blacksmith to be so knowledgeable, nor so educated. Gendry had spoken a silent prayer to his former armorer master. Mott may have sold him to the Watch but at least the man had insisted he understand the importance of record keeping.

Yet even with everything that he had to distract himself, something still didn’t feel right. He had tossed and turned in his sleep all the way from Eastwatch to King’s Landing and back. Their trip beyond the Wall had nearly killed them all so it was natural that he would be feeling so unsettled, or so Davos assured him. Gendry had distracted himself by overseeing the transportation of dragonglass when they had settled in White Harbor but now that they had been on the road for weeks, he was running out of distractions.

Deep down, buried behind every mistake he had ever made, was the reason for his uncertainty. He knew that it was connected to the fact that in less than a week’s time he would be in Winterfell and he knew those frustrating feelings were connected to _her_.

He just couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

So instead, he focused once more on the dragonglass. His first attempt to recreate the warhammer that had been lost beyond the Wall had been a disaster. He had attached the hammer head to the arm of the hammer and it had shattered with the first blow. But it kept him working, kept him trying. Even failure was better than the way he felt when he laid in his bedroll at night and tried to fight off the memories that could be so painful. Thoughts of her were like a fever, burning through his veins and consuming every part of him. It baffled him how much the ghost of someone could have so much control over him.

Would she approve of his decision to fight for Jon? Would she fight at his side against the dead so that they could protect one another as they had all those years before? Would she shove him and call him a stubborn idiot?

With a groan, Gendry finally gave up on sleep. He stuffed his furs into the sleeping roll and crawled from the tent, leaving a snoring Davos behind him. He had given up his attempts to shape any glass when the snow had begun to fall heavy the night before, but in the dim light of the dawn, he thought that he might be able to manage shaping a dozen or two arrowheads. The camp was quiet enough that he set to work by himself with only the silent Dothraki and Unsullied on guard to keep him company, though he wouldn’t mind the distraction of someone else talking. The voice of another would help to chase away the voice of the ghost that he couldn’t get out of his mind.

Instead, he focused on the texture of the dragonglass. He compared it to the different types of steel that he had worked with. Gendry thought of the Valyrian steel that he had seen in his lifetime and how it shared a gleam whenever both materials were brought towards a flame. It was that trail of thought which pulled him so deep that he didn’t hear the Dothraki speak to him, until the softer touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

Daenerys Targaryen was repeating his name as she watched him intently, apparently amused by his deep concentration. “I-I’m sorry. What, Your Grace?”

The silver queen smiled and nodded in the direction of her Dothraki guard, who was holding his curved blade out to him with a dark, questioning frown. “Krahbo asks if you can shape arakhs for his riders from the obsidian.” She nodded once more and the Dothraki, _‘Krahbo’_ he reminded himself, held the sword out for him once more.

Gendry accepted it with a nod and took the time to study the blade. It was unique in its shape in that no Westerosi would carry such a weapon, but he remembered his studies with Master Mott and all the tales from the East that the old armorer had brought with him. A curved blade on horseback could be just as deadly.

He nodded to the queen and her guard. “It may take time but I think I can. I may need one of my own to study.” The Dragon Queen turned back to her rider to translate. Krahbo nodded in approval.

“A spare blade will be provided.” Queen Daenerys confirmed as Gendry handed the arakh back to the Dothraki. “We will be in your debt, Ser Gendry.”

He felt himself flush at the title. Of course, Jon or Davos must have said something. He shook his head. “I’m only doing what any other would in my situation, Your Grace.” Daenerys smiled at him once more.

“I think that unlikely. How many other smiths do you see here who have given up their livelihood to battle the Army of the Dead?” She looked around the empty camp as if to prove her point. Gendry ducked his head in response. Already uncomfortable with the praise she had given him, he was even more surprised when Daenerys motioned for him to walk with her. She moved towards the tree line, hands clasped across the front of her fur gown as they walked. “You know, Ser Gendry, I wasn’t surprised to hear that Jon put you in charge of overseeing the weapons. He trusts you a great deal.”

“Jon is a good man. Er, King Jon, I mean.”

Daenerys smiled once more before she turned to look back out past the tree line to the snow covered hills that they would soon be crossing. “But I _was_ quite surprised when Varys came to me with a surprising bit of news about you.” Was it her words or the Northern winds that swept a chill through him? Varys had been the Master of Whispers in King’s Landing. Could whispers about a bastard blacksmith and Stark daughter traveling with the Brotherhood have somehow gotten to him? He wasn’t able to speak at the thought of being confronted by Jon so he was partially thankful when the queen continued to speak. “I understand you grew up on your own?”

Gendry could only nod, his thoughts too focused on how it would feel to confess his own failure to Jon.

“The only family I had was my brother Viserys, and even then, sometimes he didn’t act like a brother at all. Sometimes it felt like I had no family at all.”

_I can be your family._

‘ _No, no, no. Don’t think about it. Don’t go down that road,’_ he willed his thoughts as he clenched and unclenched his fists to fight back the image of tear filled dark gray eyes that so often felt as if they were a permanent part of his brain. He didn’t want to think about how they had been separated, about how he had let his stupid pride come between them.

It was Queen Daenerys’ voice that pulled him back once more. “I know who your father is. I know that you are Robert Baratheon’s son.”

All his thoughts about she-wolves and teary eyes came to a grinding halt. He turned to stare at the Dragon Queen with fearful confusion. “Beg pardon, Your Grace?”

“Lord Tyrion had made a few veiled comments prior to the summit but it was only when we sailed from Dragonstone that Varys came to me and confirmed my own suspicions. Jon and Ser Davos know about your father, don’t they?”

“Your Grace, you mustn’t think- I mean that I only- my father-“ Gendry could only stammer as he watched the Dragon Queen smile, _yet again._

“Ser Gendry, I have no intention of holding your father’s name against you.” Daenerys assured him calmly. Her violet eyes were bright with something that he could only identify as _amusement_. “I will admit that I was rather shocked upon hearing it and even somewhat enraged because of the bad blood between our families.” Gendry swallowed hard. Had she led him to the edge of the camp just to have him killed? It would be his first thought, were it not for the way that the queen’s gaze had softened. “But then I remembered how you had risked your life to go beyond the Wall and you risked it once more in order to run back on your own to get the message to me.”

“Your Grace, I-“

“Jon is alive because of you. Ser Jorah and the others are alive because of you.”

“They’re alive because of _you_ , Your Grace.” Gendry reminded her stubbornly. “All I did was run south and I nearly didn’t make it there anyway.” He inhaled deeply before he continued, anxious to voice his opinions. “But as for my father, I never actually knew ‘im. Lord Arryn and Lord Stark came to find me in Master Mott’s shop but I never got a chance to meet him. The Lannisters took that from me.” His insides burned at the thought of just what else the Lannisters had taken from him. The name _Arya Stark_ flowed under his skin, begging to be spoken. But it was neither the time nor place. “It’s something we have in common, Your Grace.” He was eager to show her that he only wished to help, to make things right after it had all fallen apart.

The Queen looked as if she were lost in another time and place, just as he had been a few moments prior. Her violet eyes darkened as she turned back to him. “What do you know of your father’s family, Ser Gendry?”

“Um,” he paused. It certainly wasn’t the question he had expected her to ask. “Well, I’ve really only ever met Stannis and that didn’t turn out too well.”

“Why is that?”

Gendry was startled by the fact that she seemed genuinely curious. He felt his brow cinch together as he thought back to his time on Dragonstone. “Stannis and his Red Priestess wanted to use me … for my blood. They probably would have killed me too, if Ser Davos hadn’t saved me.”

Daenerys’ gaze had once more turned to beyond the tree line. “That’s all that you know? That you had an uncle?”

He shrugged, unsure of what she seemed to be pressing him for. “Stannis had a younger brother, Renly. I heard he died. But I met my cousin Shireen once. She found where her father kept me in a cell and came to see me, out of curiosity.”

Before he could think any more on his time at Dragonstone and of his cousin who had appeared with so many questions, a great roar erupted from beyond the tree line. He recognized the sound of the larger dragon and sure enough, Drogon landed a few feet in the distance. The green one, _Rhaegal_ , he remembered, followed a moment later. Daenerys turned to him and smiled. “Would you like to meet my children, Ser Gendry?”

Struck dumb by her offer, he could only nod as he followed her out to where the dragons were burrowing into the snow. The heat from their scales caused the area around the two to melt from the warmth. Gendry followed in awe as they drew closer to the magnificent beasts. They were something out of a tale that Master Mott had brought with him from Essos. Years of traveling and speculation and the very product of Valyria was standing before him, two pairs of eyes staring in return as he approached. He held a hand out hesitantly, wanting to make contact, but quickly thought better and pulled his hand back to his side.

“It’s alright.” Daenerys spoke softly. “They’ll let you touch them.”

Emboldened by her encouragement, Gendry turned back to the smaller of the dragons. He moved slowly, like one would do with a spooked horse. He kept his hands out in front so that the dragon could see and back away if he so chose. Except Rhaegal didn’t. The dragon remained still and stared unblinking as Gendry drew close enough to place either hand on the side of the dragon’s snout. A low rumble came from the dragon’s belly, something he could only describe as a purr. He ran his hands up and down the side of Rhaegal’s snout, amazed at how warm the creature was, almost as if each scale was a flame itself. The dragon was like a forge of its own, surrounded and consumed by fire. “I’m sorry for your brother.” He spoke softly, unsure of what else to say. “But thank you for helping to save my friends.” Gendry now turned to the larger of the two and could see that both Drogon and Daenerys were watching with interest. He held his hands out to the black dragon in the same manner and released a sigh of relief when he closed his eyes to his touch. Gendry smiled. “You’re both magnificent. You’re fire made flesh.”

He felt a wave of sadness rush through him at the memory of a young girl who had stayed up telling him stories about the history of dragons when he had been taken with a fever back when they were captives. It was impossible not to remember how her eyes had shined brightly with excitement in the dark of the night as she had gone on and on about Aegon’s dragon and the dragonglass that had belonged to his sisters. What would she have to say if she had been there with them? _She would have insisted on riding them._ His heart ached at the thought but a chuckle escaped him nonetheless.

“What are you thinking of?” The queen at his side questioned softly.

“Just a friend, Your Grace. She often told me stories of the dragons in history. I’m sure she would have loved to meet you.”

“This friend, is she back in King’s Landing?” Daenerys asked, her voice soft as she watched him closely.

Gendry shook his head as he swallowed painfully. This was the closest he had come to talking about her since he had left King’s Landing. He hadn’t wanted to breach the subject with Jon, or even Davos. They would only confirm what he already knew. “She’s gone, Your Grace. The one person I thought of as family and the Lannisters killed her.”

He saw Daenerys’ eyes darken and was sure that her gaze mirrored his own. “We will avenge her then. Once the Night King is dealt with, we will ride South and make Cersei Lannister face justice for all she and her allies have done.”

Gendry smiled at the fury in the queen’s voice. Somehow, speaking about _her_ to the queen just seemed easier. There was no damage in Daenerys knowing that he had lost his friend, _his family_ , and unlike Davos, he trusted her not to press further for details. If the memory of Arya was going to burn in his veins then maybe talking with someone who never knew of her could help. “I joined up with Jon because of her.” His thoughts turned to long nights on the road, only counting on one another when they couldn’t trust those around them. It was like a physical stab to his heart.

“She’s not your only family, Gendry.”

He came crashing back to the present with her comment and he turned to see Daenerys watching him closely once again. He could only stare in return as she continued speaking. “You’ve made a family of your own, it seems. Ser Davos clearly cares for you. And you and Jon act more like siblings than my brother and I ever did.” Daenerys deliberately met his gaze this time before speaking again. “And I am your family. We are cousins, you and I.”

It was as if he had fallen into the icy bay at White Harbor. _Cousins?_ He blinked furiously as he tried to wrap his mind around what the woman before him had just said. _Cousins._ Years ago he had just been a bastard from Flea Bottom working his way up the Street of Steel. Then he had become the son of Robert Baratheon. Now someone who was arguably the most powerful queen in the world was calling him family.

He must have imagined it.

“Your Grace, I’m not sure-“

“We share a bloodline. Your great-grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, the sister of my grandfather, Jaehaerys II. We are cousins.”

Gendry could only stare in return, which brought a laugh from her.

“I’m sure I looked like you when Lord Tyrion reminded me of the connection a few weeks ago. I think it was done less because of our actual relation and more to caution against my anger at the Baratheon name.”

“Rhaelle Targaryen.” It was the only thing that he could seem to repeat out of all that she had told him. He only knew that the rest of the world seemed to know about the Baratheons, that they hailed from the Stormlands and that more often than not, they brought a temper with them. He knew King Robert to be a drunk, that Stannis was a stern individual, and that Renly had apparently been loved by just about everyone. But he hadn’t known anything beyond that.

“Have I troubled you?” Daenerys, _his cousin_ , asked. Her violet eyes were dark with concern.

“N-no.” He stammered, finally able to find his own voice. “I just. It’s just a lot to think about, is all.” Gendry answered honestly. He was certainly thankful when a familiar voice called out their names, causing them both to turn towards the speaker.  

Jon was walking towards them, wrapped in his black and gray Stark furs, and waving them back towards the camp. “Your Grace, the Unsullied and Dothraki refuse to eat until you have done so and we can’t leave until they do.” The King in the North announced as they met in the middle of the snowy clearing. His gaze traveled from the two of them to the dragons behind them. “Everything alright?”

“Just giving Gendry a history lesson.” Daenerys answered honestly, her tone lighter and her face brighter now that Jon was in her presence.

The king turned from his friend to the queen and back again. “You told him.” He surmised from the stunned look that was still apparent in the smith’s features.

“I told you that I was planning to.” The queen answered honestly, her chin raised as if to defend her decision.

Gendry, however, was troubled by the fact that Jon had known as well. “You? You knew?” He was back to stammering.

Jon sighed. “Yes. She was rather upset when she learned about your father. Then she started to ramble about family ties and parentage.”

“I didn’t ramble.” Daenerys corrected him shortly, though she was smiling. “Come. If we are all to eat before we depart then we should do so now that everyone is awake.” She led the two men back into the camp with Gendry and Jon following a few paces behind her.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I told you I was Robert’s son back in that cave.” Gendry confessed as he watched the way the queen’s Dothraki and Unsullied men came to stand at her side as soon as she had crossed the tree line.

“I was surprised as you when she first said it.” Jon stopped to grin. “Just wait until you tell Davos.”

“Oh, no. He’s already been hinting at the idea of me living at Storm End’s if we all survive this. I’m a _smith_ , Jon. A bleedin’ smith.”

“Aye, a bleedin’ smith who just happens to be the son of a king who just happens to be a cousin of the Dragon Queen.”

Gendry turned to face Jon directly, his eyes dark as he glared. “I’d deck you if you weren’t the King.” He threatened, though he felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, really? I s’pose I should be worried ‘bout that _Baratheon_ brute strength, eh?” Jon laughed, ducking when Gendry’s arm swung out at him. He moved to swing back only to stop at the sound of worried shouts coming from the edge of camp. Both men turned at the commotion and saw a small horde of Dothraki gathered around a rider. The horse was shining with sweat and the rider himself looked exhausted.

“ _Fini is jinak_?” Daenerys demanded, questioning the cause of the commotion. “ _Elat irge_.” The Dothraki all took a step back at her command. Jon moved to her side instantly.

“You are Andar Royce, Yohn Royce’s son.” Jon said upon recognizing the knight. He moved closer to help the exhausted man down from his mount. “Is Winterfell safe? Is Sansa okay?”

“Y-yes, Your Grace.” The knight wheezed, clutching a stitch in his side. “But I rode straight here on Lady Sansa’s orders.”

“Why? What has happened?” Daenerys questioned. Gendry felt a chill in the air before the knight even began to explain. He only held a sealed scroll out to Jon, who took it without a word.

The King in the North’s face paled as he read what Gendry assumed to be his sister’s words. With a grim face and clenched fists, he turned back so that he was facing Daenerys, Gendry, and the rest of those who had settled in the camp. From where he stood, Gendry could see Davos standing with Lord Tyrion and Varys near their own tents. They waited in silence until Jon finally raised his voice so that they could all hear.

“Daenerys and I will ride straight to Winterfell with the Unsullied. Our presence is requested immediately.”

“But why?” Lord Tyrion asked as he moved through the crowd of Dothraki, Unsullied, and Northmen.

Jon turned to meet Daenery’s gaze and spoke directly to her. “I don’t know how it happened. I only know that it happened. The Wall has fallen. The Army of the Dead march south.”

A terrible silence fell between them all. It seemed the impossible had happened.

But Jon held the scroll as proof in his hands.

They all moved quickly after the unimaginable had been announced. The Dothraki in the camp had rushed towards where their steeds were tethered, taking Daenerys’ command that they were to ride with the supplies and northern troops that had marched from White Harbor. Davos and Lord Tyrion had rushed to the sides of their rulers. Gendry followed. It felt as if he were floating. _The Wall has fallen_. Seven hundred feet of ice couldn’t just fall. Could it? Had the Army of the Dead managed to take control of one of the Night’s Watch’s towers? It was only when he heard his name spoken that he realized everyone else were making plans.

“Gendry will stay behind with the dragonglass and other supplies from White Harbor. The Queen and I will ride to meet the front of the Unsullied who had marched ahead. With any luck, we will reach Winterfell in a few days’ time.” He stopped to turn to Lord Davos. “I need you to find another rider to take a message back to Winterfell. Make sure they know we have received their message. I’m sure Sansa has already called the banners. Once that is done, ride to meet us at the front of the train.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Davos murmured. Jon turned back to meet Gendry’s gaze. His gray eyes were dark with concern and he knew that the King in the North was worried for everyone who lived in the area surrounding the Wall. Would they be able to make it in time?

“Gendry, stay with the dragonglass. If the Night King is truly marching south, I can’t promise that he won’t come directly for us. Before you ride out, make sure that you have armed as many riders and remaining Unsullied as you can. The Queen’s Unsullied and Dothraki commanders will ride with us. You’re my Weaponry Commander.” Jon’s tone was low and serious. “If there’s any trouble, you’ll take care of it.”

Despite the heaviness of their situation, Gendry could practically _feel_ how happy this made Davos.

Everyone in camp moved quickly as they gathered their supplies and made to ride out as soon as possible. Gendry blinked and Jon had already ridden out to follow Daenerys and her commanders. He stopped to see Davos coming back towards him. The Onion Knight’s face held what would probably be a permanent frown.

“I’m ridin’ out t’ ride with the King. You heard ‘im. You’re in charge. So don’t go doin’ anythin’ stupid, al’ight?”

“Stupid like volunteer to fight an Army of the Dead?”

Davos chuckled despite his frown. “Yeah, like that.” Like Jon, his tone grew serious and he reached out to rest his hand on his shoulder. “A few days’ time and we’ll both be in Winterfell.”

_Winterfell._

It had seemed like such a vague idea up until that moment, like something in the distance that he would never reach. Steeling himself against the memories that were burning from within, he straightened and met Davos’ gaze.

“We’ll be in Winterfell.”

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

Everyone had moved quickly after learning of the Wall so that in just a few days, they were less than a day’s ride from the castle when scouts came riding to him. In just a few days’ time since the party had ridden ahead, Gendry had grown increasingly uncomfortable with the responsibility that Jon had placed in his hands.

“Commander, ser!” A scout called for him late that afternoon. “A scout east of here found a gang of men. They’re not Northmen, but they want to join our forces.”

Gendry frowned. Not many men from the South would pledge their swords to a northern lord, even if he had been made King in the North. “What banners do they carry?”

“None.” The scout explained. “It’s a small group that rides without ‘em.”

The chill than ran through Gendry was stronger than any Northern wind.

_The Brotherhood._

“Show me.” Gendry commanded as he tugged at the reins to guide his horse. Facing Thoros and Beric had been one thing … how would he feel standing before the men he had once planned to call his brothers?

The men weren’t far from the army’s train of supplies. Gendry’s concern grew for the Brothers’ true purpose. Were they just here to raid them? He steeled himself from the pain of his memories as he drew closer to the group of men.

He recognized three of the men immediately as he and the scout came to stop where the Northmen were surrounding them with suspicious glances. Anguy was the first to react. His surprise at seeing the long lost blacksmith had him near doubled over with laughter. The older man, Harwin, didn’t seem as surprised, but he smiled at Gendry nonetheless. Only the third member, Edric Dayne, seemed wary.

“We found ‘em spying on the infantry train.” One of the scouts explained. “We caught ‘em and they were asking to speak with the King, Commander, ser.”

Gendry raised an eyebrow, silently questioning his former acquaintances as he took in their appearances. The Northmen had taken all visible weapons, though he wouldn’t doubt if any of them were hiding a concealed blade.

He finally spoke and addressed them.

“You’re a long way from home. I’m not sure if the North agrees with you.”

The scout who had found them turned in confusion. “You know ‘em?”

Gendry nodded. “Aye. This one here,” he gestured to Harwin, “served as a guard under Ned Stark.” He then turned back to face the trio he recognized. “Although this doesn’t explain why you were spying.”

“We weren’t spying, you bull.” Anguy said with frustration. Gendry froze at his former nickname. It had been unspoken for years.

“Is this true, Ned?” Gendry asked as he turned to face the young man he had clashed with years before. It was becoming more and more difficult to fight memories of Arya the closer they came to Winterfell. He didn’t need these three to make things worse.

“We heard about the King in the North. When we left the mess that is the remaining Brotherhood, Harwin convinced us to join King Jon’s side and we know that Ser Beric and Thoros were riding North. All we did was stop to look for them.”

Edric was telling the truth, that much he knew, and he couldn’t deny that Harwin had as much right to return to Winterfell as the rest. He thought of what Jon would say if he had been there to handle the situation.

_We’re all breathin’._

A scoff escaped him before he realized it. He covered with a cough before turning to Harwin. “Do you swear that you intend to fight for King Jon?”

“I swear it, old gods and new.” Harwin confirmed. Gendry took his answer by shaking hands with the older man before he turned to the scouts.

“You can give them back their weapons. I will vouch for them.”

The guards moved slowly with apprehensive glares towards the group of men. Finally, Anguy asked the question that he could tell was burning into the rest. “Seven hells, lad. How does a smith like you become a commander in King Jon’s army?”

“He doesn’t die when he’s sold to a Red Witch.” Gendry’s answer had come before he stopped it. Ned’s face flushed red in response.

“You know we had no say in that, boy.” Harwin assured him. Gendry could see the concern communicated through the former guard’s gaze. “It was Thoros and Beric.”

“Thoros is dead.” Gendry said once again without realizing it. “We went beyond the Wall and he died. I’m sorry. I know you respected him.”

The three nodded, the sadness and loss darkening their features. “Aye, we did.” Harwin agreed. “So it’s all true then?” He prompted Gendry. “The dead are really coming?”

“It’ll be like nothing you’ve seen.” Gendry explained, wanting his old friends to be aware of what they were getting into. “I’ll be making weapons of dragonglass. That and fire can kill the creatures.”

“So you’ve fought them?” Anguy questioned. “You’ve been in the North all this time?”

Gendry frowned. Leave it to Anguy to be nosy about his history while discussing the end of the world. “I escaped the Red Woman and traveled a bit. A friend introduced me to the King. That’s all.”

“A friend?” Anguy prompted. “ _SO_ you and the Stark girl found each other again?”

Gendry felt himself stiffen involuntarily.

“She’s dead. The Freys. She died there at the Twins.” He didn’t want to talk about Arya with them. He _couldn’t_ talk about Arya with them.

The gods had a twisted sense of humor, sending these men right back to him.

“You don’t know that. We don’t know that. The girl ran off and none of us could find her.”

“She’s dead.” Gendry hadn’t spent years convincing himself only to start doubting now. Doubt was a distraction. Doubt was dangerous.

“Have you heard the Dark Wolf rumors?” Anguy pressed. “Someone _eliminated_ the entire Frey line.”

Gendry shook his head, mounting his horse once more. “She’s dead.” He repeated, turning away from the trio.

_I told myself that she’s dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such lovely comments on the first chapter! They warmed my heart and helped push me to write this second chapter as soon as I could!
> 
> Jon and Gendry are such a great dynamic. I've said it before and I will say it again. They are the bromance that was promised. 
> 
> I will always be the one to remind others that the Baratheons are related to the Targaryens. I think it is such a great piece of information that I know will be overlooked in the show because of the obvious Jon-Dany relationship that they'll focus on. But Gendry had been searching for a family. Dany thinks that her dragons are her only family. So why wouldn't that be a great thing to explore? 
> 
> What do you guys think? I know that absolutely none of this will happen in the books or show. That is why we have Ao3!


	3. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa bond as memories from their past continue to haunt them. With unfamiliar faces arriving in Winterfell, Arya struggles to break from the dark identity she had clung to for so long before. 
> 
> Chapter Song - Monster by Beth Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sansa's time being tortured by Ramsey is discussed between the two sisters in this chapter. Some readers may choose to avoid the subject.

ARYA

Winterfell buzzed with activity as everyone prepared for more bannermen to arrive with each passing day. Arya herself had taken to alternating between time training with the Knights of the Vale and overseeing the changes between the castle and Winter Town. The lords arriving with fighters and supplies had been instructed to camp throughout the town because every inch of Winterfell was being prepared to house three separate armies. Sansa had been working through the night in order to allocate the appropriate space for each lord and worked so tirelessly that on the third evening, Arya ordered the Lady of Winterfell to retire early. _She_ had at least made sure to rest in the early hours before dawn but she couldn’t say the same for her sister.

Yet it wasn’t a surprise to find Sansa at her desk with a leather bound ledger in hand.

“You’re supposed to be resting.” She chastised. Her sister acknowledged her presence with a raised eyebrow before looking back at the ledger. Arya crossed to the window. “Cerwyn’s people are settled.”

“Did you get their supply numbers?”

“Two dozen barrels of preserved meats.” She paused. “They unloaded fifty-two sacks of grain in our stores but stashed another thirty separately.”

The corner of her sister’s mouth turned up in a partial smirk. Both had decided to use Arya’s skills to their advantage when it came to the arriving lords. “I will find a way to mention it.” Sansa replied mildly.

“Half of his people are mounted. It will make a difference.” Arya paused as she thought back to Jon’s last letter. “The Dothraki are legendary on horseback. Even Braavosi fighters spoke of them.”

“They’re also sexist, if I remember Maester Wolkan correctly,” said Sansa, actually looking up from her notes to glare pointedly at her sister.

Arya rolled her eyes. “His warning was irrelevant. It’s not like I’ll kill any of them.”

Sansa raised her brow skeptically. “Oh, and that cut to Ben Branch just appeared, did it?”

It was Arya’s turn to glare pointedly. “He questioned my ability to fight, just like Lucas Corbray. When he wouldn’t shut up, I made him.” She was calmed by the smile Sansa seemed to be fighting. There were still times at the darkest point in the night where she found herself questioning what she had done, what she had become. She had always been quick to anger, only now, just as she had the skills to hide her emotions, she also had the training to act upon them. Braavos had been another world, a place where she could be anyone or no one.

What did it matter if No One could fight a man twice her size and leave bruises?

In a way, she was glad that Sansa had found the faces and that Bran was able to _‘see’_ her past. She couldn’t begin to imagine how she would have even approached that conversation and was thankful they seemed to accept the person she had become. But there were still days when she wasn’t sure she even accepted herself. No One had been a means to an end, a way to get justice for those who had been wronged.

Who was she now that she was once again Arya Stark?

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she brought herself back to where Sansa was now watching her closely. Arya stilled her emotions with a few short breaths before she shrugged, redirecting her sister’s thoughts. “Besides, a man who lives so close to Bear Island should know of a woman’s power.”

It worked. “Speaking of. . .Lyanna Mormont should be arriving by first light.”

“Good. Things were dull without the Terror Bear.”

“Arya!”

She grinned in turn. “She happens to _like_ the nickname.”

“Of course she does.” Sansa shook her head, fighting another smile. Gods, when was the last time she had seen her sister _truly_ smile? Arya stepped away from the window to sit against the foot of the bed, where Ghost had burrowed himself between the furs. She leaned back on the mattress, rolling to her side so she could still see her sister.

“You seemed a little … overwhelmed earlier. Is there something you want to talk about?”

Sansa shifted, suddenly distracted. Just as Arya was prone to questioning her own identity and purpose, Sansa was prone to long periods of silence where she seemed lost to another lifetime.

The silence continued between them as one sister rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling, absentmindedly running her hand through Ghost’s fur, and the other continued to stare at the scrolls of parchment before her. Doing her best to avoid her own thoughts, Arya focused on what Sansa could be thinking instead. Was her mind still on the lists and numbers of food stores? Had they strayed to the looming threat of the dead? Bran had told them of the Wildings who were fleeing The Gift, but the Night King’s presence was back to resting with the unknown, though not for Bran’s lack of trying.

Ghost whined when she pulled away to roll back to her side. “Have you truly rested?”

“Yes,” answered Sansa in a tone that was just as soft as her own. “Are you staying here tonight?” She asked tentatively.

Arya watched her sister. “If you want.” She had stayed with Sansa on other occasions, the first being the night of the mockingbird’s execution. It had been awkward at first, just as everything between them had been since their reunion. They had never shared sleeping quarters when they were young. Staying up late and giggling had been something for friends like Jeyne Poole.

It was the sound of Sansa’s sigh that pulled her back. Her sister had crossed to the carved wardrobe standing in the corner to pull a night shift from a shelf, her fingers working at the lace of her dress. “All these preparations remind me of when we planned to retake Winterfell. It was like now. Lords arriving. We didn’t know what would happen. . .but I knew I wasn’t going back _to him_.” Her voice broke into a strangled sob and Arya could only watch as her sister’s eyes reddened with tears. “I’ve n-never told anyone what _all_ he did. Jon knows some. Brienne has guessed. . .but with these preparations, these memories are back. I feel the burn of his knife against my skin. Sometimes it still feels like I’m bleeding, still feels like I’m bruised. I _still_ hear his twisted laugh in the night.” Sansa had pushed the woolen dress from her shoulders.

Just as it had felt the first time she had seen them, it was as if someone had taken a knife and twisted it deep within because of the own pain she felt at the sight of her sister’s scars. Sansa’s skin, once so beautifully pale and unblemished, was now darkened with scars that crossed her in slashes. The round marks of her burns were caught the torchlight and shone white. Arya had killed more people than she cared to admit. She had watched them bleed to death before her, watched their organs fall from their opened stomachs. She had gouged a man’s eyes out and hardly blinked. But this?

This turned her stomach.

It made her nauseous from the intense anger. It burned within her, consuming her like wildfire. Feeling Sansa’s trembling gaze on her, she finally spoke. Her voice was soft with deadly anger.

“I would kill him a thousand times over for what he did to you. And then a thousand times more.”

Arya did something that she had never done before. She reached out and willingly took her sister’s hand in her own, squeezing it tightly as Sansa closed her eyes. Her gray gaze was steady as she worked through her own thoughts. Having Bran offer up vague descriptions of Sansa’s torture was one thing. Sitting there in her sister’s chambers with Sansa admitting that her own memories tortured her while seeing the visible scars was another.

Sansa wiped at her own tears with her free hand. “It’s just. . .with all this happening, I wanted, n-needed someone to know.” She whispered as if horrified by her own pain.

Arya squeezed her sister’s hand once more, trying to convey all her feelings through their touch. “He is gone.” She said firmly. “And anyone else who wishes to harm you will have to cut me down first.”

Sansa smiled through her tears. “You’ll stay?” Arya nodded.

“Of course.” Her older sister had just revealed her true vulnerabilities. There was no way she could leave her on her own just then. She accepted the offer with a smile and unbuckled her sword belt while unlacing her jerkin, tossing the leather over the foot of the bed after laying Needle on the bedside table before slipping the dagger beneath her pillow. Another thing she liked about her changing relationship with Sansa was that her sister didn’t question her need to have a blade near. She removed her quilted tunic, leaving her in her long sleeves and breeches. Sansa had literally bared her scars before but Arya knew that she wasn’t quite ready to reveal her own.

She wondered if she ever would be.

Sansa climbed onto the furs and smiled softly as Ghost nudged her side, demanding affection. She turned to Arya. “You can always borrow a shift, you know. Or…I could sew you some of your own.”

A scoff escaped her. “You’ve already given me enough.” She met Sansa’s gaze. “And I’ve never liked dresses.” Arya closed her eyes briefly to lay back against the pillows. The pain in her lower abdomen had subsided slightly after the bath she had taken that evening, but it had returned already. Her eyes opened once more to see the familiar look in Sansa’s eyes. She was trying not to say something. “What is it?”

Sansa shifted. Her eyes were still trained on her younger sister. “Jon will be arriving soon.”

“Yes.”

“Have you. . .thought about what you will tell him, about _you know.”_

Arya was silent. In truth, she had given a lot of thought about what it would be like to see her brother again after more than seven years apart. She had been a girl playing at being a knight then. Now she was something different entirely. “No,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know what I will tell him. Just seeing him alive will be strange enough.”

“Well, _I’m_ going to ask him if he’s a complete idiot for giving away the North.”

Arya was warmed by the determination in Sansa’s voice. The North had suffered through so much at the hands of traitors and those from the South. She had seen her people slaughtered firsthand when she had arrived at the Red Wedding. She had heard of the way her father’s men had been cut down in King’s Landing. The North was a pack of wolves in itself and a pack had to protect one another. But she also thought of the whispers that had come to her when she had been at the House of Black and White. “Rumors of Daenerys Targaryen were popular in Braavos.” She whispered from where she was laying on her side, hands buried in Ghost’s fur as he lay snug between them.

“And?”

“She freed the Unsullied army and they chose to fight. By the time she sailed for Westeros, the freed people of Slaver’s Bay were choosing their leaders.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And you think she will let the lords of Westeros do the same once she sits on the Iron Throne?”

Arya sighed. “An army of dead men are marching for us. I don’t know what to think.”

A silence fell between them as Sansa turned the conversation back to the lords who had already arrived at Winterfell and whether those in the north would move south in time. Sansa was getting better at asking questions about their time apart, casually working them into any conversation. Arya answered each carefully but took comfort in the fact that Sansa was no longer afraid to ask said questions, was no longer afraid _of her_. She saw her skills as the potential for what she could do. But in turn, Arya worked answers from Sansa as well. She had learned of the ways Cersei tormented her and vowed to kill the mad woman in an exceptionally painful way. That night, Sansa chose to tell her of the time that Podrick Payne had trained with a brother of the Night’s Watch. Arya listened with more interest in the way her sister talked of Brienne’s squire than in the story itself. Arya made a note to keep a closer eye on the two of them when the squire returned from King’s Landing just as her eyes were growing heavy with sleep.

“Thank you,” spoke Sansa softly, “days like this would be rough without your help.”

“Just take better care of yourself.”

“You take care of yourself as well.” Sansa said firmly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you looking paler. Have you been sleeping?”

“’tis just my moon’s blood.” Arya muttered dismissively as she rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow. “It’s sometimes bad.”

“Oh,” she heard Sansa murmur. It was a soft response, as if her sister had forgotten that she too was a woman. “Is it…always bad?”

Arya shrugged, opening one eye lazily. “Usually,” she answered honestly. “I took a bath earlier. It helps.”

“There are other ways. Milk of the poppy is one.”

Arya shook her head at the mention of the sense dulling drug. She still remembered the last time she had chosen to take it and how someone had died because she hadn’t been alert enough to save them. “There’s a root tea. I’ll ask Wolkan, or a healer woman.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sansa softly.

“What for?” Arya murmured, feeling herself drawing closer to the depths of sleep.

Only Sansa wasn’t. She felt the bed shift as her sister moved to sit up. “I’m your older sister, Arya. The first time I bled was traumatizing. I can’t imagine what it would have been like _on your own_ , not knowing what to do.” The touch of Sansa’s hand to her brow as she brushed the hair from her face was comforting and pulled her deeper to the realm of dreams. “I should have been there. You shouldn’t have been alone.”

Though she heard every word that her sister had spoken, Arya was drifting in and out of sleep. Her thoughts were clouded by sisterly affection and memories of the past. Memories of long days and cold nights huddled against one another for warmth. She could see his teasing grin as she pulled the pillow closer, remembering how it felt to hold him against her on those oh so rare occasions when he allowed her to be close. But Sansa didn’t know that. She didn’t know of the care they had taken with one another, of the way their survival had been linked, like the gods themselves had sewn their fates together.

“I was’n’ ‘lone.” Arya murmured into the pillow, uncertain if she was speaking to her sister or the image of the bullheaded ghost that filled her mind. “I had him.” But he was yet just another who had been taken.

She felt the names on her lips, though she still wasn’t sure if she said them aloud.

_Cersei._

_Ser Illyn._

_The Mountain._

_Ser Beric._

_Thoros._

**_The Red Woman_ ** **.**

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

When she woke the next morning, she felt just as tired as the night before. The wolf dreams had returned and Arya could still taste the blood of her kill even as she washed and dressed for the day. She had left her peacefully sleeping sister to gather her jerkin and blades before slipping into the hall. The feeling of still being on the prowl burned through her veins. There was something about the dream that she couldn’t quite shake. The hunt itself had been vicious and there had been a merciless way that she and her pack had cut down the men in red who threatened their home. She saw red in their armor, red in the blood, and red in the streaks the meat left behind as it was dragged through the snow.

A shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold sting of the water she had used to wash. The red of her dreams had faded into a twisted rainbow of memories. The auburn of her siblings’ curls, the gray of the Stark banners, and the annoying sparkle of blue that she had done her best to ignore no matter how many times they appeared. The bright orange of a forge’s flame had also been a part of that rainbow and she had seen the green of a long torn dress that would have been discarded ages ago.

Her escape came in the form of the practice yard as the sun started to rise. The knights themselves wouldn’t be there until after they broke their fast in the hall. Her body was already sore from the lifting she had down to help the townsfolk, but it was a welcome feeling as Needle cut through the air. It was the burn of her muscles that reminded her she was human and pulled her away from the wisp of a monster she sometimes thought she could be after such a dark dream. Arya pushed herself further, lunged farther, and balanced longer. Training was her distraction, a way to forget what people whispered about in the corridors.

_Dangerous._

_Lethal._

_Unflinching._

Arya Stark was all of those things. But she was also so much more.

It was her growling stomach that pulled her from her training. Inhaling deeply, she sheathed Needle and pushed herself towards the entry corridor that led to the Great Hall.

The whispers began as soon as she entered.

They were afraid of her, these men in the hall. The whispers and rumors reached her easily enough. They called her the Dark Wolf. They whispered about the Freys and Lord Baelish.

Sansa’s voice broke through her troubled thoughts, calling from where she sat at the high table. She was surprised to see Podrick Payne sitting at the Lord’s Table. The fact that he sat at her sister’s side did not go unnoticed. “There you are,” called Sansa brightly. Arya felt another happy twist of her stomach. The lords in the hall whispered about her but Sansa was hardly phased. “Judging by the state of you, I’d say you’ve been training. Take time to eat” Sansa gestured to the loaves of brown bread and porridge that were gathered on the table before dipping her head towards the squire. “Lady Brienne is meeting with Ser Royce to discuss the training but I asked Podrick to tell me more of the summit.” The poor man sitting next to her sister blushed brilliantly under the direct attention. It was amusing.

Arya was distracted momentarily by the smile that had lit Sansa’s features at Podrick’s story about a stray dog that followed them through most of the Riverlands. Her sister seemed far less stressed than she had the night before.

“I saw your Lord Brother, Lady Arya. Though he only spoke with Lady Brienne shortly before and after the summit itself. Last I saw, he was sailing to White Harbor.”

Arya’s insides twisted yet again. _Jon._ He was sure to arrive shortly.

Podrick began speaking again, turning to Sansa with an eager smile. “I saw Lord Tyrion, of course.”

“The Imp?” Arya questioned.

_“He hates that name.”  
“He hates that name.” _

Both Sansa and Podrick had responded in the same breath. Arya held back a smile.

“What of the Mad Queen?” She questioned, watching Sansa’s slight smirk. Arya knew her sister delighted in what the people called the Lannister Queen.

“Still just as mad, I suppose. Didn’t see her myself after Ser Bronn pulled me away. Though Lady Brienne told me enough on the road.” He began his explanation of all that transpired but Arya was only half listening. She tore into a warm cut of bread as she realized how truly hungry she was. Just another thing about wolf dreams. She would feel full for a moment until her true body called out in hunger.

Sansa was watching her closely and it was only then that she realized Podrick had disappeared, presumably after Lady Brienne. Sansa leaned back in her chair to bring them closer. “Are you feeling better?” Her sister pushed another cut of bread towards her. “Last night you mentioned some pain.”

“Oh. That.” Arya swallowed. “I’m going to town later. I’ll ask a healer for a root tea.” Her thoughts clouded briefly as she tried to recall everything she had said the night before. She _had_ mentioned the root tea, hadn’t she?

Sansa nodded, her gaze distant as she stared across the hall, deliberately ignoring the way Harry Hardyng smiled in her direction before she broke the silence between them. “Arya…who was the ‘him’ who helped you?”

She wondered wildly if a window had been opened because of the intense chill that swept through her. Sansa’s eyes were watching her and so she forced her body into a calm, loosening her fists and jaw that had clenched involuntarily. So it _hadn’t_ been a dream. Somehow, in the murky haze that existed between sleep and the waking world, her mind and mouth had betrayed her. Vaguely discussing his existence was one thing. Mumbling about _him_ in her sleep was another.

“There wasn’t anyone,” she stated. Her tone was as cool as winter as she inwardly cursed her mind for such a betrayal. Citing the townsfolk as an excuse, she bid her sister a good morning and was out of the hall in a few short breaths. Because _of course_ her sister would latch on to such a thing. Damn her mouth and damn her mind and damn her emotions that had been so unsettled in the few days prior.

A distraction was what she needed and so she made her way to Winter Town.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

The days passed and for the most part, she managed to avoid her sister. There was work to be done in town and people to train. That particular morning proved to be productive and it warmed her heart to see the collection of tanners, masons, wives, and older children line up for the morning training that had been a part of their daily routine for more than a year. Winter Town’s people were as every bit determined to do all that they could to protect their home. She smiled as a young woman about her age disarmed an older and larger opponent.

An unwelcome shiver ran down her spine as her mind pulled a long buried memory to the surface.

_‘You don’t know how strong I am.’_

_‘You don’t know how quick I am.’_

No. She couldn’t think about that, not there in Winter Town. For whatever reason, the memories were fighting to return after she had pushed them back deep within her mind. It had been a different life then. She had been a different person. The Arya Stark who had returned couldn’t think about bastard best friends, no matter how many times the memory fought its way back to the surface.

She prayed to the Many Faced God for a distraction and was rewarded when the townsfolk began running, shouting to one another, and pointing to the King’s Road. Her mind went to Bran’s warning of the Night King but it wasn’t until she heard the great roar and saw the shadows on the horizon that she understood. It was difficult to fight the feeling of awe that swept through her as the shadows in the distance became the recognizable creatures she had seen so often in her dreams.

 _Dragons_.

Everyone had been on edge since she and Sansa had called their banners but the arrival of the foreign queen with her armies and dragons did nothing to ease the situation. As Arya moved through the town to sneak back into the castle, she could hear them talking of the dragons in terrified whispers. Yet it wasn’t the sight of the dragons that made her feel as if her insides were violently twisting while simultaneously turning to ice.

It was Jon.

Her brother would be arriving with the Dragon Queen. The brother that she hadn’t seen in over seven years. She had been a little girl then.

That girl hadn’t been able to protect her family.

Would she be able to look her older brother in the eye and tell him of her past, of the lives she had taken, and the ways she had taken them? She was reminded of a time years ago when she had been reunited with one of her father’s men who had joined the Brotherhood. Harwin had reminded her of her father and she hadn’t been able to explain how she had killed the stable boy, fought with the Night’s Watch recruits, and slit a guard’s throat. She was a different person than the sister that must have existed in his memories.

She couldn’t be that person who existed in his memories.

Finding a vantage point was easy. She and Sansa often walked the battlements when they needed to discuss things privately. Her spot gave her an excellent view of the scene playing out below, making it easy to spot her sister amongst the lords and knights that had gathered in the courtyard. Sansa’s Tully red hair stood out in bright contrast. Next to her, Lyanna Mormont had been given a place at the front of the welcome party, ensuring that the Terror Bear’s glares would be on full display. Arya did her best to steel herself against the emotions that she knew that she would have to fight. It was not a time for emotions and memories. There was a task to complete and a promise to fulfill. With so many foreign faces arriving at their castle, they had to be better prepared than they had been the last time that a monarch had ridden through their gates. Sansa didn’t need another face in the courtyard. She needed eyes, ears, and a calculating frame of mind from a high vantage point to better observe everything below.

Yet Arya couldn’t stop her insides twisting at the sight of a dark figure riding through the gates with a silver haired woman at his side. Her heart sank.

Sansa had accepted her.

Would Jon?

It was overwhelming to see him in the courtyard. Judging by the way he moved as he dismounted, he had caught sight of Bran before he rushed to pull their younger brother into his arms. But even from a high vantage point, she could still see the hurt on Jon’s face when he realized that the young man before him was not the brother he had left behind.

Would she see the same confused expression when he saw her?

Drawing her focus away from Jon was difficult but there were too many new faces in the courtyard for her not to. The Dragon Queen stood a few paces behind her brother, her silver hair pulled back in intricate braids and her white fur dress standing out against the darker clothing of the Northerners. Tense words were exchanged between Sansa and the queen before Bran, in typical Three Eyed Raven fashion, was the one to say something that disturbed them all. It would be something about the Wall falling, Arya thought, possibly even something about the ice dragon judging by the way Daenerys Targaryen’s face darkened from the distance.

A Dragon Queen was in Winterfell. Her brother had returned. And the Army of the Dead was marching for them all.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

She found him in the godswood hours later. After watching him greet their siblings and suffer through meetings with the Northern lords, she had yet to reveal herself. The concerns that had been running through her mind ever since she had learned he was sailing north had plagued her throughout the day until she knew she could hold it off no longer. Jon was there and no matter what he came to think of her after learning of her past, she needed to see him now.

_Had she just grown taller or had he always been short?_

The thought amused her as she broke the silence of the godswood and Jon turned in surprise, his dark Stark gray eyes wide in shock. Everything felt uncertain until her smile broke through her carefully controlled emotions and then she was in his arms, he was lifting her, and her face was buried in the fur of his cloak. Jon was there, they were both alive, and for the briefest of moments, she forgot about her past. She forgot about the loss and pain she had suffered at the hands of others and forgot about the doom that darkened their futures. The best was that she forgot the darkness that had enveloped her soul for so long.

She felt freer than before. Lighter.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

There was much to do and see in the castle as the lords continued to arrive and the Dragon Queen’s people settled themselves into their assigned chambers. Arya made herself useful and began to slip through the shadows of the castle, learning the names of those who arrived with the foreign queen’s army. Jorah: the exiled son of Bear Island, Tyrion Lannister: the brother of the woman she had sworn to kill, Varys: the man of whispers that she only just remembered from King’s Landing. There was the silent commander of the Unsullied and the queen’s translator that she quickly learned was called Missandei of Naath. She often caught the young woman translating the common tongue to either Dothraki or High Valyrian and Arya felt the sudden urge to address the woman in Braavosi, just to test either of their skills. In that moment, the queen and her advisor were discussing Jon and it was how she learned that her brother had gone off with Daenerys Targaryen _and had rode a dragon._

It was a combination of excitement and jealous that sent her in search of her brother. She finally found him lighting a candle in the crypt near their father’s statute and she hung back at the sound of footsteps. Samwell Tarly came crashing into the crypts and Jon rushed to his friend’s side after such a long time apart. Her Faceless training called to her and she pulled back into the shadows, slowing her breath in order to listen.

_“Your mother was Lyanna Stark … and your father, your real father, was Rhaegar Targaryen.”_

The chill from the crypts was nothing compared to the icy feeling that settled in her veins. From where she stood in the shadows, Arya saw Jon’s emotions get the better of him and he pushed past Samwell, leaving without another word.

Sam moved to follow but Arya emerged from the shadows.

“No,” she snarled before glaring at him. “You’ve done enough. I’ll talk with him.” She raced from the crypts after Jon. She had spent weeks preparing her mind for the reunion with her brother and had still fought the overwhelming emotion once his strong arms had been around her, making her feel as if they had never been separated. She had prepared herself for those emotions, for the uncertainty of his reaction to her past, but she hadn’t prepared herself for this. The look of betrayal on Jon’s face had been _so painful_ that punching Sam right then and there seemed like such a good idea. Then, to make things worse, _Bran had known. Bran had known and he hadn’t said anything._ Frustrated beyond belief, she fought to control her emotions.

Three Eyed Raven or not, Bran was a dolt. Sam was a dolt.

She found Jon in the training courtyard near the inner stables, practice sword in hand. A heavy silence created a distance between them. It was his grief to process but when Jon finally spoke, his voice was bitter. “Did Sam send you after me?”

“I sent me after you.” Arya clarified. “I went looking in the crypts . . . and I heard everything.” Her tone changed to a soft reassurance. “He was protecting you and it doesn’t change _anything_ , Jon.”

He scoffed. “I’m a bleeding Targaryen. It changes _everything_.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Arya insisted. “There is as much Stark blood running through your veins as there ever was. You’re as much a Stark as I am. What does it matter that it comes from your mother and not your father? And you’re still my brother. It doesn’t change that.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

His confession struck a chord with her, pulling at her heart and threatening a flood of memories. She hadn’t wanted to talk about her past, any time she did was like pulling stitches. But being back at Winterfell with her pack, with Jon in pain, she had to help.

“You knoe . . . I became different people to survive.” She confessed, unsure of how much to divulge. “I was Arry. Nan. Mercy. I’ve lost count of the names. It wasn’t safe to be Arya, never mind Arya Stark.”

“Then who were you?” Jon questioned, turning to face her.

“I was no one.” Arya answered softly. “Becoming no one, becoming someone I didn’t recognized helped me to learn that your identity is _something you make it_ , not something dictated by birth or status.” Jon was silent as the time passed between them in the quiet night. She could tell by the knotted brow in his brooding face that Jon was a million miles away.

“Nobody can know yet.”

She nodded, looking up to meet his gaze. “We have other concerns. The Night King. Cersei.”

“Right. We have a bigger threat to us than for someone to try and shove me into that damned throne.” His brow knotted once more and he looked down to stare at his boots.

Arya broke his concentration. “When was the last time you trained?”

“Not in days, I suppose. I sparred a bit sailing to White Harbor. But proper sparring? Not in ages.”

The younger Stark nodded towards the practice sword he still held. “Good. You need to refocus after all this nonsense.”

Jon sighed. “Arya, it’s the middle of the night. Even the men who arrived with the supplies a few hours ago are already in bed.”

“You need to clear your mind.” She repeated, her tone more forceful than he ever remembered her being. “I’ll not have you toss and turn all night before facing the lords again tomorrow. There’s nothing better than a good sweat to clear your head, and heart.”

The night around them was as silent as death and she could hear Jon fight a shiver. The quiet did little to bother her. Instead, she drew peace from it. “Ready, brother?” She asked with a smirking smile that she hadn’t given anyone in years. Arya drew her sword and was now twisting her wrist, flexing her grip before the fight.

“Will you tell me how you managed to keep Needle after all these years?” He finally asked as he accepted that like always, she would get her way.

Arya’s smile grew. “Only if you beat me.”

Jon laughed despite himself. Arya knew he was underestimating her, being unable to imagine her in any sort of combat. “Ready, little sister?” Jon asked, swinging his blade to better his grip. At Arya’s nod, Jon swung his blade and she could see him impressed by how swiftly she avoided his attack. He took a step sideways and came at her from the opposite direction, only for her to bring Needle up to stop his attack before diving under his arm in the same breath. The sword’s tip rested on his shoulder, just next to his collarbone.

“Dead.” She said with a smirk.

Impressed, Jon took a step backwards to put distance between them as they began again. This time, Jon had a better understanding but Arya still met each sword swing with a combination of dives and side steps that sent his brow rising. From Bran and Sansa’s stories, Arya knew he had fought against mutineers, Wildings, and wights, yet she could tell by the look on his face that this was dizzying him.

Once more, she pressed the tip of Needle dangerously close to his throat.

“Dead.” Arya repeated.

Jon was breathing heavily now. Drops of perspiration beaded across his brow. “Where did you learn that?”

“They call it water dancing.” Arya explained as she began to circle him. “Swift and sudden. Swiftness outwits brute strength.”

“Is that what I am? A brute?”

“You’re a third time loser is what you are.” Arya was the one to advance this time. The former King in the North met each of her attacks to block with his blade. He turned into an offensive stance, forcing Arya further back with each swing. Jon moved with every intention of backing her into the railing behind them, giving her nowhere to dive underneath his attack as she had done twice before. Except she saw through his end goal and used the advantage. Feigning a stumble, she fell over the back of the railing, only to twist underneath as she came to stand behind Jon, the tip of Needle pressed against the back of his neck.

“Dead again, _brother_.”

“Is that where you’ve been all these years? Training?” Jon panted as he fought to regain his own breath. She had moved with the swiftness of a lightning strike. Arya shrugged in response.

“Father arranged for me to take lessons from a First Sword in water dancing.” Her eyes darkened at the memory. “Syrio saved my life when the Gold Cloaks came for me.”

Jon dug the edge of the sword into the dirt, cursing the memories.

“Well, little sister, I won’t question your skill again.” He met her gaze before he continued. “I’m proud to see the person you’ve become.” His voice was choked with emotion.

Arya could feel the warmth of her own tears that she had to force away. “It all started with Needle. I owe you so much for that.”

Jon scoffed, brushing aside her praise. “You were always going to do what you wanted. I just made it easier.” He heard her chuckle in agreement and the sound warmed them both. She saw his eyes darken in concentration. “Are you still handy with a bow?”

“I’ve spent the last three years training to kill anyone responsible for the deaths of our family. What do you think?”

Her answers shocked him, she could tell by his widened expression, but he didn’t speak against her nor question her response. Instead, he nodded and inclined his head towards the storage corner of training weapons. “Good. I know you’ve been helping since the Master-at-Arms was taken by the fever. All men, women, boys, and girls have been training for this fight. I’ll need your input when we draw our battle plans.”

She was thoroughly confused. “Me?”

“Of course,” said Jon, as if it was obvious. “Arya, you’re smart. You’re quick. And you’ll need to teach that to us. It’ll be what gets us close enough to destroy the Walkers.”

Arya leaned against the railing as the pair of siblings lost themselves to silence. For Arya, it felt as if years of the sneers and doubts were slowly ebbing way. Jon was home, in Winterfell, and he had given her a purpose. Suddenly, she was fighting the surge of emotions that had overwhelmed her when she first saw him in the courtyard. Cursing herself for the hot tears that blurred her vision, Arya pulled him to her and tightly pressed her cheek to his shoulder. It didn’t matter in that moment what she had done in their time apart because in that moment, she didn’t feel the darkness that had at one point been so consuming. She was a different kind of monster, one who would do everything to protect those she loved.

“I won’t let you down, brother.” Arya promised with a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's kudos and comments have been absolutely fantastic. If you're like me then you probably had to take some time to recover after the season premiere last Sunday. I just can't believe the show is coming to an end, though I'm worried that a lot will be overlooked because of this shorter season and their focus on the major battle events. In addition to that premiere, I forced myself to cut this chapter down from 11k to just below 6k. Reunions are full of emotions and I just couldn't stop writing them! Here's to pushing it for the next chapter!
> 
> What do you guys think about Arya's concern for her past? She was careful not to say anything to Jon in the show reunion and in the books, she purposely avoided telling Harwin about her kills after stating that it would be like telling their father. I wish the show had done more in the past to let everyone see that she is much more than a killing machine. The chapter song really helped me to understand what someone in Arya's position could be feeling. She has all this training, all this power, and she has held someone's life in her hands on more than one occasion. Our Arya is one of the few characters where other characters comment on her kind heart. Don't tell me that her time in Braavos wouldn't have come with major inner turmoil. 
> 
> And trust me, the Gendry reunion is coming! This is a reunion that i have had typed up and saved since last summer. I can only hope that when it does get posted that it does our two justice! 
> 
> Enough rambling. I'm off to prepare myself for S8,E2!


	4. You're Somebody Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry arrives in Winterfell and tries his best to escape from his memories of Arya.
> 
> Chapter Song - You're Somebody Else by Flora Cash

** GENDRY **

Riding through the gates of Winterfell was beyond unsettling for him. After years of stories whispered into his ear on the darkest and coldest of nights, it was both everything and nothing that he had expected it to be. Memories and emotions tied to a homesickness that was not his own came flooding back as soon as the castle came into his line of sight. By the time the massive combined companies of Northmen, Unsullied, Dothraki, and their supplies all settled into the area surrounding the castle, Gendry’s fists were clenched so hard that his own nails had dug angry red marks into his palms.

With Jon, the Queen, and their advisors already in the castle after riding ahead, Gendry was the one to oversee the temporary settlement of the army. The Northern lords who had rode with them from White Harbor all watched with suspicious glares as he spoke briefly with the Unsullied and Dothraki leaders first, ever grateful that the Queen had insisted they learn the common tongue. He promised himself that if he lived through the Long Night then he would make an effort to learn their language. There were a number of men that he had grown quite close with in the weeks they had all traveled together. The Unsullied respected him for the weapons that he could fashion and he had soon learned from the Queen’s translator that the Dothraki followed strength. Tyrion often joked about his way with the war hammer and he had become known for crushing skulls amongst the riders because of it. He was now known as ‘Hammer Man’ amongst the majority, something that both Jon and Davos delighted in teasing him for.

Past teasing aside, it made him nervous, being in her home while the memories of her worked their way back to the front of his mind. It was distracting. Thankfully, he had something to focus his attention on and he was grateful for it when he recognized Lord Tyrion and Davos waiting in the main courtyard as he and the Northern lords rode through the gates with their main supplies and weaponry. Davos would handle the lords so that he could focus on calming himself and getting to work on the dragonglass.

Because images of Arya were _everywhere_ and he felt his sanity start to leave him bit by bit.

The young woman with auburn hair standing between Davos and the Lannister finally spoke, introducing herself as Lady Sansa Stark to those who may not have met her before. He could practically _hear_ the sound of _her_ laughter as a fresh wave of memories struck him harder than any misplaced swing of a hammer. _‘She annoys me, but she’s my sister.’_

Gendry pinched the bridge of his nose as the pounding in his head grew worse and he was actually thankful when he heard Lord Tyrion suggest that he retire to either the room that had been set aside for him, or to the master forge that he would take command of. Smithing at Winterfell. What would the ghost of his memories have to say about that?

“Her Majesty and his lordship thank you for the care that you’ve taken in overseeing the transportation of the dragonglass.” Lord Tyrion spoke sincerely. “I would say you should retire directly but we both know you will try to work before anything else.”

He liked Lord Tyrion, he did. They had come to know one another in their time spent traveling. The Queen’s Hand had instantly recognized him as a Baratheon relation on the first night they had spent sailing with Davos from King’s Landing to Dragonstone and the man had gone on to explain how he had a soft spot for bastards, and that even though he didn’t expect Gendry to trust him, he could still come to him with anything that he would need.

And in that moment, Gendry needed to get away from everyone.

“Crann, make sure they’re careful with the crates. I don’t want another in bits because some fools dropped it off the wagon.” He directed towards the broadest of the men who were gathered around the largest wagon. Crann, a Northman from White Harbor who had been at Jon’s side since Dragonstone, had become Gendry’s second in command when it came to anything related to the dragonglass. Though the man was only a few years older than Gendry himself, he had only recently been sent to work as a smith. He was someone that Gendry knew he could rely on in the darkness of the coming days. “Store it here, in the courtyard for easy access. I’ll see to the master forge and you can take a look at the smaller ones surrounding it. Make sure all’s in order.”

With the directions give, Gendry felt his legs practically bolt out from underneath him as he took off in the direction of the side yard where Davos had said the master forge would be.

Simply put, being in Winterfell was overwhelming. It had always seemed like such a far off dream when the ancient castle had first been described to him across the smoke of a dying campfire. The idea of being there, of being friends with one of her brothers was even more outlandish. In a number of weeks he had left King’s Landing, traveled beyond the wall to nearly die, sailed back to King’s Landing and Dragonstone, and had finally made his way back North. He had made his way to her home and the most frustrating part of it all was that _she wasn’t there_. Because surely _someone_ would have said _something_ by this point if she had been alive. Wouldn’t Jon, the bastard brother that she had prattled on and on about, have said something about missing the sister he loved so much? Wouldn’t Ser Davos have said something to him about minding himself around the Stark _sisters_? The Arya he knew had always been talking, always asking questions. There was no way that anyone in the North would have missed the presence of someone who had been such a pain in his arse all those years ago.

Gendry focused his attention back on the master forge and away from the dark haired, bright eyed lady who should have been at his side when he took in the sight of what he would be able to mark as his own. Jon had been right. The master forge was unlike anything that he had ever seen. It was a far cry from the shop he had made for himself in King’s Landing and more than three times bigger than the space at the top of the Street of Steel where Master Mott had done his trade. There were stone fires built into the walls of the forge that connected to the inner courtyard and stone fires laid strategically out across the center of the enclosed space. Smaller storage rooms and sleeping quarters had been closed off along the far side and he could see a back staircase that would lead up to what he was sure would be more sleeping quarters. Davos had said that there were two smaller forges located on other sides of the castle and if they were anything like what he saw before him then the only problem they faced in forging the dragonglass would be time. The Army of the Dead moved on their own accord.

Crann’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to direct the men on where they could begin to unload the supplies that had been brought in from the harbor. “Who’s in charge here?” He called out to the collection of smiths who were already hard at work. The number was small and Gendry made a mental note to ask for anyone and everyone from the neighboring towns and holdfasts to be sent his way.

An older fellow with scraggly hair tied back with a kerchief looked up from his work, glanced at the other smiths beside him, and shrugged. “Guess that’d be me, m’lord. I’m Jorrel.”

Gendry froze at the title. “I’m not a lord.” He corrected the man. “But I’ve been asked to oversee and help make weapons from the dragonglass that we’ve mined. Are you the master smith?” Jon hadn’t said anything about there not being master but he hadn’t thought to ask.

The older man chuckled. “No, ‘m just the smith that little Lady Stark sent up from Winter Town when she found me workin’ there. Said her brother needed smiths in the castle. I’ve been working steel far longer than any o’ these other lads sent here.” Gendry moved forwards and extended his hand to the older man, who raised his brow in his response.

 _Northern folk_. He thought as he fought a smile and dropped his hand. “Right. Names Gendry. I’ve been workin’ with the dragonglass for a while now and we’ll be working nonstop now that we have crates of it.”

“You’re not from the North.” Another smith spoke. Gendry turned to see a young boy, an apprentice, watching him suspiciously.

“’m not but I’ve been beyond the wall and I’ve seen what’s coming for us.” The other smiths in the forge fell silent as he spoke. Surely word that the Wall had fallen had reached nearly everyone in Winterfell by that point. “I don’t want to overstep but I’m here to help. We have workers from the Harbor that will be joining us and I’ll be asking for more volunteers too. I want as many skilled hands working on this for as many hours as we can for as many days as we have.” He gestured towards the small wagonload that Crann and the other men had brought. “It’s a tricky material but you’ll catch on once you melt it down a few times.”

“And it kills the Others?” A third voice asked. Gendry was surprised to see a female smith but judging by the way that she stood near the young apprentice and the appearance they both shared, he assumed they were related. “You’ve fought ‘em with it?”

“Aye, with dragonglass and with fire. Regular steel, no matter how good, can only knock ‘em down. When they’re not struck with dragonglass, the dead just get right back up.”

The woman moved closer to her son but she didn’t break eye contact. She held his gaze with a steady determination that reminded him so much of another fierce Northern lady that it felt as if someone had taken the dragonglass and delivered a twisting stab to his own abdomen. It was going to be a long road to the end of the world.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

He couldn’t bring himself to leave the forge in the days after he had arrived. Each time he tried to leave to attend one of the meetings Davos was always inviting him to or to the dinner in the hall that Jon had asked him to attend, he was struck dumb with yet another memory that he had repressed all those years before and the overwhelming sense of guilt at being there without her sent him rushing back to the nearest cart of dragonglass. Thankfully, the two men had other problems to worry about and his absence had been ignored, for the most part.

Until it wasn’t.

“Don’t you think you’ve spent enough time working today?” A voice from the entryway called, breaking his concentration. Gendry looked to see the former King in the North staring at him expectantly. There was a touch of annoyance to his voice that spoke to just how long the blacksmith had been there. It was their second day in Winterfell and he had spent every moment since sunrise in the forge, testing the qualities of dragonglass and molding it into weapons. No matter how hard he tried, he still felt as if there was more he could be doing with the dark stone.

“There are thousands of arrowheads and daggers to be made, m’lord. I’ll be here until it’s done or until the Night King comes marching to end the world.”

Jon sighed and picked up one of the new daggers. “What have I told you about the title nonsense, Gendry? You saved our lives at Eastwatch. If you hadn’t made it then we all would be marching for the Night King.” He set the dagger down and moved on to examine the box of arrowheads that had been cut earlier. “I think after that and all the work you’re doing then you can call me by my name.”

“That’s not what a bastard should call a former king.” Gendry replied. He and Jon may have joked with one another on the road but being here, in his family’s home, it was different.

“I’m a bastard former king. That means the rules are different.” Jon said with a laugh, a laugh that reminded him so much of another Stark that he couldn’t help for it to be anything but contagious. “Why don’t you take a break and join us to train? There’s a real talent that I think you’d enjoy sparring with. I want to see someone with your strength and agility go up against them.”

Gendry bowed his head to examine the shard of ‘glass that he had been working with. “I’d rather stay and work, Your Gr- … Jon.”

Jon scoffed. “You’ve been working, eating, and sleeping in the forge since you’ve arrived. My Weaponry Commander needs to spar with my new Master-at-Arms.” He stared pointedly at the blacksmith until Gendry dropped what he had been working on. “Good.” Jon spoke with satisfaction. “You’re in for a fight. She may be the best we have.” It was Gendry’s turn to scoff at the comment, assuming they were talking of Tormund’s lady warrior, Brienne. He made to reach for the large hammer that he had spent the last two days working on to replace the detailed hammer that had been lost beyond the Wall. It wasn’t as fine as the first but it would do.

“Alright. One match and then I’m back here.” He said with all the stubbornness that the Stark bastard had come to know him for. “They in the courtyard?”

“Aye.” Jon answered as he led the blacksmith through the yards of the castle to the largest yard, where a crowd had gathered. “Just wait ‘til you meet my sister.”

A wave of sadness rushed through him, piercing his heart like a dagger to the chest. It had been weeks since he’d joined the king’s side and he still had yet to tell him that _he had_ met his sister, just not the sister that everyone talked about. There was too much to plan and focus on. Reminiscing the death of the one who had become his best friend wasn’t going to change the fact that an army of dead men were marching to them. All that he had seen of Lady Stark since his arrival was the red color of her hair as she had come to greet the group of workers who had arrived that morning before he himself had slipped away to the supply carts, avoiding the jumble of emotions that being in _her_ Winterfell had brought.

A few yards away, the crowd of knights, Wildings, and warriors broke their line when they saw their king approaching in order to reveal a still sparring pair. An Unsullied warrior, covered in leather to protect against the cold, was on the ground and cursing at the figure of a young woman who had her rapier pointed at his throat.

Gendry froze. His gaze traveled from the slender sword to the hand that held it then up to the face of the young woman who had defeated the trained soldier. He knew that face. He would _always_ know that face. But it couldn’t be. The young woman who wore that face was dead, rumored to have been killed years ago, murdered by the Freys. She couldn’t be alive.

But there she was.

Jon clapped his hands in applause to see his sister standing in triumph. She spoke quietly as she helped the queen’s soldier to his feet, words that he recognized as Valyrian, and then she turned to face her brother.

It was Arya’s turn to freeze and he knew why. It wasn’t the sight of her brother in the courtyard that had stunned her, but the sight of the young blacksmith covered in soot who stood next to him. Though he knew that he was taller and older than she would remember, it was still his face. He glimpsed the briefest trace of confusion followed by a flicker of pain before her features calmed. Gendry knew what she must be thinking. How could it be him when his younger self was supposedly sacrificed by the Red Witch who had torn them apart? He was supposed to be dead. She had probably told herself he was dead. Just as he had said the same about her.

Jon moved forwards to introduce them.

“Arya, this is Gendry. He does some damn good work fighting wights. And he’s fast, too.” Jon Snow fought a smile and Gendry Waters fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I think you’re up for a fight. What do you say?” He looked from his friend to his sister. Both were still frozen and silent. The silence made him hesitate.

She was the first to regain composure. Her steel gray gaze broke with his and Gendry could feel her cool gaze burning through him as her eyes traveled the length of his body. He dared to allow his gaze to do the same. Years apart and here she was, standing before him, armed and dangerous. He fought a smile to see that she was dressed in a jerkin and breeches.

“What the hells is that?” Arya spoke, the first words either of them had said to one another in years. Her voice was softer, lower than what he remembered from their days together. It sent a ripple of shivers down his spine just the same.

He looked to see that her gaze had settled on the war hammer. He couldn’t resist the cheeky grin that pulled at his lips. She was here, alive in Winterfell after all these years and she was literally standing in front of him ready for a fight.

And yet, he couldn’t resist the urge to tease her. “This? It comes in handy when you’re bashing gold cloaks skulls in or when you want to break a wight in half.” Gendry’s shit eating grin pulled a wolfish growl from Arya as she took a small step towards him.

“Well, just like the smith who probably made it, it looks stupid.”

Nobody would have thought it possible for Gendry’s grin to grow any bigger, but it did. His blue eyes were truly sparkling now.

“What did I tell you about insulting folks that are bigger than you, _m’lady_?”

Arya’s eyes darkened, her brow furrowed, and in three quick steps she had closed the distance between them with Needle drawn and aimed at his chest. “ _I told you._ Don’t call me that.” The Stark sister growled, stepping to the side to bring her sword closer. The frustration that had appeared at his words quickly disappeared and was replaced by her calm demeanor as she moved towards him.

The tip of her sword should have made contact, only it was met with open air instead. Years of training had made the smith ready for her attack. As she moved sideways, Gendry used the force of a well-aimed swing to bring his own body around and out of the way. Much to Arya’s dismay, he now stood behind her with the same grin on his face.

“My apologies, m’lady. I mean. _M’lady Stark._ ”

His emphasis pulled another growl from Arya as she spun to face him once more. She darted forward in his direction only for Gendry to move oh so slightly to the left. Her blow missed him by a breadth of an inch. Gendry could see the frustration growing in her darkened gaze. “You see, a brilliant lady once told me to stand side-face in a fight. Smaller target, you know.”

From across the courtyard, he could see Jon and Lady Sansa exchange yet another confused look. Gendry cursed internally at his behavior. What in the seven hells was he doing?

The Hound, however, had leaned over to speak between where both Jorah and Davos stood a few feet away. “I’ve got a bronze on the wolf girl.” He offered, not only to the commander but to the rest of the group.

“I’ve seen the lad work. I’ll take you.” Davos answered.

Back across the courtyard, Arya had continued to attack the ghost from her past who had seemingly just appeared from nowhere. “Funny,” she spoke softly as the two began to circle one another. Her gaze was calm and calculating, something so unlike the Arya that he remembered. It sent a chill down his spin to see her so different. “If that lady of yours was so smart, why did you decide to leave her for the damned Brotherhood?”

Gendry shrugged, forcing aside the rush of pained memories that threatened to return while saving the fact that she had referred to herself as _his lady_ for another time. He dove out of the way of another attack. This time, he heard the fabric of his tunic rip as the tip of Needle made brief contact. There was the slightest sting of metal against skin. He spun to face her, his grip steady on his hammer as he swung in her direction. His swing nearly made contact with her shins, though she was quick enough to jump over the head of the weapon. She landed on her feet, as sure footed as before. Gendry’s eyes widened at her swiftness. “I said she was brilliant. I never said I was.” He admitted, hoping to convey his own honesty and regret.

“So you admit that you’re stupid.” Arya breathed with satisfaction as they began to circle one another yet again. Her gaze was locked with his in her familiar fierce determination that he had come to know so well when they were young. He found it calming to see that there was still something he recognized about her after so many years apart.

“At least I’m not a stubborn lass who commands friends to do everything she suggests. She’d be a pain in my arse.”

Her cold demeanor broke and a growl ripped through Arya as she dove under his well-aimed swing to come up under his arm in order to make contact with his chest. He felt the steel of her blade cut across the shoulder of his jerkin and the sting from where steel met flesh just before he pulled back. “Friends? Is that what we were?” Arya hissed with frustration when he had sidestepped her once more. “Friends don’t abandon friends. Friends don’t turn away friends. Friends don’t disappear with a Red Witch never to be seen again!” She punctuated each accusation with another thrust of twist of her blade in his direction, making brief contact with each stroke. Gendry swore loudly as her blade ripped through the fabric of his sleeve and he felt the sting of another open wound to match the one she had made at his collarbone.

His fury rose to match her own. Did she honestly think that he had been a part of the decision to leave with the Red Woman? They had both been there when Beric and Thoros had been handed the gold as payment for his life. “If I didn’t care then why would I have joined to fight with your brother?” Gendry spun the hammer from one hand to the other in an impressive swing from the opposite direction. Arya jumped backwards to avoid the hit and he allowed himself the briefest second to appreciate her training. He had trained for years on his own in King’s Landing, preparing for a war that he didn’t know was coming, and she was still better than him.

Arya only scoffed in response at his prompt. “Just another stupid idea coming from your stupid brain.” She breathed as she mirrored his hammer swing by spinning Needle in her hand to maintain a tighter grip on the sword. Though she was determined to cut him to pieces, he still wondered how she had managed to get her hands back on it when he knew that it had been taken from her at Harrenhal.

But her dismissal of his pledge to fight for Jon was something that irked him more than he realized. His blood was hot in his veins from their repeated attempts to disarm one another and his irritation at how he was being treated didn’t help.

“Oh, so _now_ joining your brother’s cause is against m’lady’s wishes?” His annoyed tone was only barely covering the grief and regret in his voice. What did she want from him? Why was she so determined to skewer him without even asking where he had been?

Arya lunged. Gendry made another swing with the war hammer that forced the young woman before him to roll to the ground, only to quickly jump back to her feet. Her agility sent a flash of admiration through him. She had always had the heart of a fighter. Now she clearly had the training and skillset to back it up.

A voice broke through from the crowd of onlookers.

“Would the two of you stop before you actually kill one another?” He recognized the voice of Lady Sansa from where she stood across the yard.

The Lady of Winterfell’s panicked request only barely registered with the sparring couple. They had started to exist in a world of their own. Mirroring the fluid motion of a rippling stream, Arya began a new assault strategy as she moved to dive and thrust her blade towards the blacksmith in a series of sharp, contained attacks. Just as before, she punctuated each move with a breathless threat that was clear in the low growl of her voice.

“I. told. you,” Arya tilted to the side by pivoting on one foot in order to avoid his swing and she took the opportunity to twist Needle up and under his arm, tearing the fabric of his jerkin once more. By the sting of it, she had been able to draw blood once more, marking him in her anger.

“Don’t,” He stepped into a crouch and moved backwards in a swing. She hissed as the arm of the hammer made light contact with her back. She may be ready to carve him like a cut a meat but he knew that he would never really be able to hurt her.

“Call me-“. Arya inhaled deeply.

“ _My”_ A full spin in the opposite direction and she was back to solid footing. Her gray eyes blazing.

“ _Lady,”_ Arya growled in response as the tip of her blade cut through the quilted jerkin at his legs.

The waves of frustration running through her were clearly visible as she became unbalanced once more in her attempt to strike him, diving from yet another one of his swings. When she regained her footing once more, her flashing steel gray eyes locked with the smirking blue ones directly across from her. He was _teasing_ her.

“Whatever m’lady commands,” Gendry answered in a soft, almost laughing tone. Because what else could he do? She was here, in Winterfell, with him. There were marked changes to the young woman that had already left him with stinging wounds, changes that should concern him, but he still saw the Arya that he remembered in the way that her gray eyes flashed angrily. She was someone new but she was still the same.

His response unleashed a rush of emotions for them both that became evident in the way that they stared each other down. There was the anger that he had wanted to leave, the painful sadness of their last argument, and the overwhelming collection of emotions upon realizing that they were both there, they were both _alive._

And _he was teasing her._

Arya drew herself up as she raised an arm into an arc for balance as she began another set of unrelenting assaults that included quick and precise dives in Gendry’s direction. The sweet zip of Needle flying through the air was met with yet another satisfying rip of fabric as she met her target. The smith continued to turn and avoid the most brutal of her attacks and so she began to focus on another way to outmatch him.

“You disappeared, Gendry Waters.” Arya accused him in a matter of fact tone as the couple began to circle one another yet again in faster formation. He couldn’t look anywhere but at the woman who was circling him like a wolf circles their prey. “You were taken. You disappeared. You were _missing_. You were _gone._ You were _dead_.” Her voice cracked, revealing the pain that she had been fighting on her own and he wanted nothing more than to toss their weapons aside to take her in his arms so that he would whisper apologies into her ear for the rest of forever. She had never been one to reveal when she was hurt and the fact that she was now able to speak so openly was not lost on him. But she wasn’t the only one who had been hurt.

“ _You_ disappeared, Arya Stark.” Gendry reminded her in a calm, caring tone as their circle around one another drew smaller with each step. “You left the Brotherhood. _You_ went missing. _You_ were gone.” His voice had started to crack as well as he struggled to admit what had clouded his mind for years. “ _You were dead_.”

It was clear that she had been distracted by attempting to hide her emotions when they had first begun to spar but it was now evident that she couldn’t any longer. A few steps around to circle her opponent and he could see the gleam of tears in the corner of her eyes just before her leg struck out from her body in order to wrap around his calf like a whip, unsettling him and bringing both him and his hammer crashing to the ground.

But she had also been distracted by her urge to draw blood, to make him feel a small amount of pain in comparison to what she had felt, and because of this, she was unprepared for when he reached out to wrap his hand around her lower arm and brought her crashing to the ground with him.

Arya landed on top of Gendry, her one elbow digging into his chest while the hand clutching Needle had landed just above his head. Their closeness helped him to realize just how small she still was, even after all their years apart. She struggled atop him and he became consciously aware that her thighs were straddling his midsection just as she locked her eyes with his own. The emotional battle that she was fighting with herself was evident in the stormy gray of her eyes. “You’re alive, Arya. All these years and you’re alive.” Gendry’s voice was soft, broken, and he knew that they were the only two who would hear the words spoken between them. A hushed silence had fallen across the courtyard at the spectacle that they had made.

“I’m alive and I returned, alone. I’m alive because I survived, alone. All these years and I was _alone_.” Her voice broke and he saw the first tear began to move slowly down her cheek.

“I’m here, Arya. What does that mean to you now?” Gendry’s blue eyes were pleading, begging because after so many years together and then so many years apart, her pain was _still_ his pain.

Arya scoffed and rolled her eyes. He tried to actively fight the warmth that spread from where his hand encircled her wrist. “It means you’re just as stupid as before.”

Gendry could feel the intensity of his gaze grow with concern at her own pain and he reached out to instinctively wipe at the tears that had begun to wet her cheeks.

But his hand never made contact. Quick as lightning, Arya rolled away from him and jumped to her feet as she slid Needle into its sheath and rubbed at her eyes with one hand.

“Keep your stupid hammer,” was all she said, just loud enough for the others to hear, before she bolted from the courtyard and disappeared into the shadows of Winterfell. He stared after her, frozen in place at everything that had just happened. Arya Stark left a stunned Baratheon bastard lying in the snowy dirt of the courtyard with an even more stunned gathering of friends at his side. Gendry could only stare after her as he replayed every word she had said. It was still too unreal for him. He was sure that at any moment, someone would come crashing into his room to wake him up and he would learn that it had all been a dream.

Only the sting of the cuts she had left him with were a reminder that it was real. That she was real.

Everyone else in the courtyard had begun to share awkward glances with one another. Davos’ brow was furrowed with concern and confusion. Lady Sansa and Jon had exchanged a look of concern with one another but neither spoke. Only the Hound seemed to have understood what had played out before them and he only smirked knowingly. The uncomfortable silence between them all was finally broken when Jon stepped forwards, his dark eyes fixated on the bruised and bleeding blacksmith who was struggling to get to his feet.

“Would you please explain what in the bloody seven hells just happened?”

A chuckle escaped the Hound from a few feet away as he held his hand out to Ser Davos to collect on their bet. “Good to see the she-wolf and her smith haven’t changed a bit.”

A flustered and tongue-tied Jon Snow looked from one man to the other before he turned back to face Gendry, who was back on his feet and already moving in the direction that Arya had taken off in. The young woman who had appeared in the courtyard didn’t seem to be the best friend that he had left behind in the Riverlands, though he supposed that he would appear to be somebody else as well. Maybe he could find her. Maybe he could explain himself.

But Jon Snow had other ideas.

“Oi! Just where do you think you’re going?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had this reunion in my head for MONTHS. I knew that we would never get anything like it in the show but I love the idea of Gendry being able to break Arya's wall of emotion and for her to try and beat the crap out of him in response. Our Arya is not the emotionless killer that the show is apparently trying to make her out to be. I think she would be extremely unnerved by Gendry showing up after all those years and it would show in how she fought. 
> 
> I hope you all like it!


	5. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events in the courtyard unfold, Jon demands answers from his friend while Sansa struggles to locate her missing sister. Everyone has more questions than answers. 
> 
> Chapter Song: Ghost by Chanele McGuinness (she's amazing, check her out on YouTube!)

** SANSA **

 

“Oi, just where do you think you’re going?” Jon Snow barked from across the courtyard to get the attention of his friend who had just been beaten to the ground. In all of Arya’s time home, she had never shown as much emotion as she had while fighting the blacksmith. Her sister had always been full of surprises but this? This was completely different. Jon seemed to be just as confused. “What in the seven hells was that about?” The Lord of Winterfell demanded as he neared where the smith was staring into the shadows after Arya.

The young man, _Gendry_ , she had heard her brother call him, turned cautiously to look from one Stark sibling to the other. Sansa remained close behind Jon, staring down the blacksmith as she did her best to understand everything she had just witnessed. Arya had fought with a ferocity befitting of a direwolf but she had also seemed afraid of her own emotions. Everything aside, it was clear that the two shared a history. Both she and Jon waited for the smith to speak first, only for him to remain silent as he wandered aimlessly away from the crowd.

“How do you know my sister?” Jon’s demanding question was only met with silence. “How did she know your name? Why did she nearly kill you?”

The young smith had led them back in the direction of the forge but he stopped short near the crates of dragonglass. “Ser Gendry,” she began. “Can you please explain what is going on?” Her tone was firm as she remembered the wild look about her sister before she had disappeared. Something about this man had clearly unsettled Arya.

Gendry inhaled deeply, his eyes darkening with years of repressed memories. He shook his head, as if unable to voice them. Sansa watched as Jon moved forwards to stand beside him so that when the young man finally looked up, her brother was able to meet his gaze. From where she stood, she could see that his blue eyes were clouded with a pain that was evident once he began to speak.

“I thought she was dead, Jon. All these years and I … I – I thought she was _dead_.” Distractedly, Gendry looked down to pull at one of the new tears in his tunic. His soot stained fingers traced at the tear. His thoughts were elsewhere and the three stood in silence until Sansa coughed lightly, bringing him back to the present. “We me- I mean, I thought-,” Gendry stammered as he attempted to regain what composure he seemed to so easily be losing. To Sansa, it was quite clear that he was unsure of how to recount their story while being distraught over everything that had happened in the training yard. Both Stark siblings remained silent in order to give him the time he needed to collect his thoughts. Gendry’s gaze moved away from Jon to meet her own and she did her best to smile encouragingly. It seemed to help. “We met before the war even started.” He finally began. “She told me who she was. I kept it a secret but the hardest part … the hardest part was keeping her alive.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a soft smile, as if he was lost in a more pleasant memory. “We traveled together, m’lord.” Gendry confessed, meeting Jon’s gaze. “We traveled together for _years_ only to part in the Riverlands.”

“Jon’s brow furrowed though he looked no less suspicious. “When the Brotherhood sold you.” Sansa frowned as she attempted to piece together the story. She had met the young Ned Dayne when he had arrived in Winterfell to pledge his sword to the cause alongside Harwin. She had learnt of the Brotherhood Without Banners, the cause they fought for, and that they had somehow met Arya.

This man’s role in Arya’s history was larger than she had expected.

“Aye, when they sold me.” Gendry answered with a deep exhale. “When you’re on the run and on your own, you have to trust each other. It was a runnin’ joke for myself: the bastard and the lady.”

Another long silence fell between the three of them as Gendry appeared to be fighting his own words, his own memories. Sansa and Jon exchanged a knowing glance. Her brother knew what it was like not to fit in because of being a bastard. He would know what it was like to forever feel like an outsider. She had even been the one to make him feel like an outcast. Life was unkind to bastards but she couldn’t stop the newfound friendly warmth that came to her with the realization of the care that the young man had clearly taken with their sister. It was unspoken between them but evident that he had protected her with everything in his power and because of that, her sister had lived to make it back to Winterfell all those years later.

“What happened?” Jon prompted. The pain and frustration that Gendry and Arya had been fighting between them was not easily hidden. Sansa stood silently as Jon voiced her own concern. “Did you hurt her?”

Gendry’s eyes widened. “No. No!” He protested. “N-No.” He sighed once more. “We were young, Jon. Kids. She wanted – needed – a family after losing all of you. But I couldn’t be her family. I was just a smith’s apprentice. She was Lady Arya Stark. I was a nobody.”

“The two of you were close?” Sansa questioned, voicing the obvious in order to keep the smith talking. She had been given so little from Arya about their time apart. Gendry seemed like a lifeline to a place where she could better understand everything that had happened to shape her sister into the cold stranger that she often appeared to be. There was a brief moment in the courtyard when Arya had been sparring when she had caught a glimpse of the sister that she remembered, of the sister that she wanted to know.

The blacksmith’s gaze fell to his boots. “Maybe. Yes. I think … I was too stubborn to realize that we were already a kind of odd family.” He shook his head, as if chasing away yet another memory. “I was stupid and became a knight. Then the news about the Red Wedding … I thought she had been killed so I created an idea that she s-somehow survived but I still thought she was dead. I _felt like_ she was dead.” His voice was broken and hollow. Sansa felt the urge to reassure the stranger in front of her that everything would be fine. Though speaking of his shared past with Arya clearly troubled him, Gendry kept talking after he finally raised his chin to meet their narrowed gazes. “I’m sorry that I never told you, Jon. It wasn’t meant to be a lie. I told you ‘bout my father right away but when it came to A-Arya … I just didn’t want to bring up somethin’ painful.” He turned away to avoid their stares.

“Painful for you? Or painful for me?” Jon spoke softly. There was so much more history between the man and their sister that Sansa wondered if they would struggle to accept any given answers within such a short amount of time. Arya’s emotional reaction had surprised them all.

Gendry remained silent as he stared down at his boots, fists clenching and unclenching in a clear attempt to calm himself. He was just as upset as Arya had been.

Silence passed between them once more as the men in front of her struggled to process their own emotions. When it was clear that neither her brother nor the man in front of them was willing to speak, she took a step forwards in order to move closer to the blacksmith. Up until a short while ago, she had only known him as Jon’s friend who refused to leave the forge. His height and dark crop of hair had caught her attention upon his arrival but now? This man could be the only key to unlocking the hollow shell that had become her sister.

“You’ve answered as to how you know our sister, but not as to why she was so upset with you.” Sansa stated as she attempted to pull back another layer from the mystery that was her younger sibling. “I suggest you do so.”

Gendry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with both the subject and the attention. He shrugged, his gaze narrowed. “That’s a question she ‘as to answer ‘erself. I only know she’s alive.” His Flea Bottom accent became more prominent as he grew nervous standing in front of them. Sansa thought back to everything that her sister had said when she had first returned to Winterfell. Arya had never mentioned anything about a blacksmith or a brotherhood.

But then again, Arya hardly mentioned anything at all.

Frustrated by the lack of answers, Jon practically growled when he spoke next. “What do you mean you don’t know why she’s angry? What did she saw when you were sparrin’?”

Gendry shrugged. Sansa watched as his gaze darted back towards the shadows that Arya had disappeared into. The blacksmith’s urge to run after her sister might as well have been written across his face with the soot that stained his clothes.

“Well?” Jon demanded, his growl eerily similar to Ghost’s.

“ _I don’t know_ ,” the bastard from Flea Bottom said irritably. “I show up ‘ere thinkin’ she’s dead an’ then all of a sudden she has that bloody Needle of hers pointed a’ me an’ knocks me on my arse.”

Recognition lit Jon’s features. “She told you about Needle?”

Gendry Waters released a _breathless_ laugh, much to Sansa’s amusement. She almost swore that she could see a smile light his features. “Of course she told me ‘bout Needle. We were leavin’ King’s Landing and I saw this scrap of a person threatenin’ a boy twice their size with the tiny blade. I asked her where she’d stole it.”

Sansa’s urge to laugh at the idea was dimmed by the sadness that she felt when she thought of how alone her sister must have felt in the days after their father’s execution. It was a confusing feeling that was mirrored in Jon’s own gray gaze. Her brother exhaled noisily.

“I just need t’ understand.” Her brother explained, though whether he was telling them or saying it to himself was unclear. “She’s just – she’s – well, she’s not the same sister I remember.”

There was an honest sincerity in Gendry’s blue gaze that brought a sense of comfort to Sansa when he spoke. “She’s not the girl I was separated from.” He admitted, still clearly bitter abot what had happened even if he wasn’t willing to divulge any information. “But she’s still Arya.”

The pain in his voice spoke volumes.

It was in that moment that Sansa vowed to get to the bottom of what had transpired between the blacksmith and her sister. His decision to be separated from Arya had not been his own, of that she was certain. The fact that her sister had come to trust him with her identity meant a lot to Sansa herself, even if Jon didn’t understand the significance of it. Anyone else would have sold Arya Stark out, or in the very last, sold off information about her whereabouts. But this man had done neither. She had seen her sister execute a man without blinking. She had held the _faces_ in her own hands. If the man had done anything to betray her sister, Arya would have gutted him the very moment that Jon had stepped aside to introduce them.

So then why had her sister been so upset at the sight of the blacksmith?

Gendry had fallen silent, his blue eyes dark with memories of the past. Sansa watched as he shook his head sharply, almost as if to rid himself of said memories, and his features darkened once more. He was hurting.

Sansa dipped her head towards him. “I will speak with my sister, Ser Gendry. I can promise you that.”

Jon turned his head sharply at the softness in her voice. She rolled her eyes.

Gendry ignored the interaction between the siblings, his gaze darting towards the castle shadows once more. He shrugged in response to her vow and turned away from the courtyard shadows that seemed to haunt him in order to meet her gaze directly for the first time. “It doesn’t matter when you decide t’ do somethin’. It only matters what Arya decides to do.”

The blacksmith’s words struck a chord with Sansa and she found herself staring after the man as he turned away from her and Jon to move back to the forge he had been dragged form. Inhaling sharply, she stepped forwards to call after him.

“Ser Gendry,” he turned slowly at being addressed. “Was being parted from my sister as painful for her as it was for you?”

Gendry Waters remained silent as he turned away from the Stark siblings. But Sansa hadn’t needed an answer. His silence was all she needed.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

In the afternoon after her sister’s disruptive sparring session with the Weaponry Commander, Jon took to following her around like Ghost at her heels. She understood for the most part. They were both shocked by what they had seen and frustrated with the fact that Arya had seemingly disappeared after the scene in the courtyard. She and Jon had searched for her after leaving the smith to brood in the forge and both had returned empty handed with more questions than answers. But there was work to do, war to prepare for, and so Sansa returned to the lord’s chambers. Jon followed after her, having given up on his attempt to wander through Winterfell in hopes of tracking down their sister. But in his new habit of following her throughout the castle, he had also begun to ramble in an attempt to sort out his own emotions concerning their younger sister and the sullen blacksmith.

“Gendry and Arya.”

“I know, Jon.”

“My friend. And our sister.”

“I _know_ , Jon.”

“They traveled together, Sansa. They fought for one another? They _depended_ on one another?”

Sansa glared at her brother from where she sat at her desk, surrounded by correspondence from traveling Northern lords. Reminding Jon that she had been there in the courtyard would be pointless. He was too lost in his own confusion. But she _had_ been there. She had seen the way that her sister and the blacksmith had handled one another. Their sparring had seemed practically coordinated, the way that they had dipped and spun and crossed one another. She had seen her brother, Knights of the Vale, and Wildings all train in the last few years and she could honestly say that she had yet to see a fighting pair move together so well. Arya had returned as a quiet, deadly person with scars of her own but now the door to an entire chapter of her life had been blown open.

Of course, the pain between the two of them had been obvious. Arya had spoken of him leaving her behind. He had spoken of being taken away. Which story was true?

Sansa turned back to her paperwork as her brother slumped into one of the chairs beside her. She continued to work in silence as he stared into the fire that was burning low in the hearth. A heavy sigh escaped him, claiming her attention, and she pushed the raven scrolls aside with frustration. “If you want to say something, say it. If not, learn to be quiet. Even Ghost whines less than you do when he’s in here.”

“I’m not whining.” Jon replied quickly. He turned slightly to meet her gaze. “…it doesn’t bother you?”

The knot of uncertainty twisted inside her as she thought of everything that she had been questioning throughout the day. Sansa shrugged her shoulders, unable to hold back her own frustration. “What part, Jon? The part where our sister returned home as a complete stranger and I’ve spent months trying to understand who she is? Or the part where an actual stranger comes to Winterfell and apparently he already knows her better than either of us?”

“Yes. I mean. Both.”

“None of us are the person we were when we put Winterfell behind us.” She answered rationally. “Look at Bran. I don’t even know what he is.”

“Different story for a different day.” Jon muttered as he slumped back down into the chair. Sansa took pity on her brother and turned so that they were both facing the fire. “Gendry … he saved me and my men when we were beyond the Wall. He made it back to Eastwatch to send for Dany. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

“He’s your friend.” It was a statement, not a question.

Jon nodded in confirmation. “Two bastards taken in by Ser Davos. He’s a fighter and a great smith.” Her brother paused and a silence fell between them. When Jon started to speak again, his voice was softer, hesitant. “You know, he’s Robert Baratheon’s son.”

Surprise and alarm shot through her at the declaration. The Stag King had a great many bastards. None of them had been any secret and she had been in King’s Landing when the royal order for their executions had been given. Ladies of the court had whispered of the event for weeks after. She shuddered at the memory before her mind turned to other concerns. “The Dra- I mean, Queen Daenerys. Does she know?” Robert Baratheon had killed her brother and been labeled the Usurper. It was rational to think that she would be suspicious of a Baratheon son, even if he was a bastard.

“Varys told her. She was angry at first and going on about usurpers but she calmed and saw him for an ally a while later.” He paused and looked up to meet her gaze. “I know you have your concerns about her, Sansa, but she’s pledged her armies to the cause.”

She wasn’t so easily swayed. “And she really had no problem with you naming Robert Baratheon’s bastard as your Weaponry Commander? None at all?”

Her brother grinned. “The two of them get along rather well. He’s even promised to make curved blades for all her Dothraki riders.”

Sansa smiled despite herself. There was a lightheartedness to her brother that she hadn’t seen since they were children. It was good to see he had others to rely on. “The two of you are close.”

“That’s what happens when you volunteer together to freeze to death.” Jon spoke lightly before his face fell as he seemed to remember something. "I just … I can’t believe he never said anything.”

“He cares for her.” Sansa said softly, hoping to ease her brother into uncharted territory. Arya and Jon had been the closest of all their siblings. When one was hurt, the other felt their pain. It would be new for either of them to accept that their wolfblooded sister had become so close to someone outside of the family. It brought another thought to her. “Did you catch what he said? About being her family?”

“Yeah.” Jon muttered as he leaned even further back in his chair. His legs stretched out to get as close to the hearth as possible. “She was always listening to Father go on about the pack and all that. Makes sense she’d stick to it.”

“Yes … it would.” She murmured, amused by how oblivious Jon was to her suggestive question. Her sister and the blacksmith shared a bond so strong that she knew it would rival that of her father and mother’s. They had been able to convey so much between the two of them and a good deal of it had been just by the way they had _looked_ at one another. Sansa felt a twinge of jealousy for whatever kind of relationship her sister had. Would she ever have a connection like that with anyone? The Lady of Winterfell sighed just as loud as her brother beside her and she allowed herself to slump forwards in her chair as well. It felt good to stretch, to relax. She inhaled and turned back to Jon. “Arya’s become … quiet. Sometimes I think the only time she talks with me is because of how we were forced to work together to outsmart Baelish.”

Jon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Can’t say I’m sad he’s gone … but _it was_ unsettling to learn my two sisters had executed him while I was gone.” He shifted in his slouch, gaze dark in the low light of the room. “When you returned, you didn’t say … but Lord Royce … he said that – that Arya …”

Sansa nodded, her insides twisting at the memory. Arya had briefly confided in her about her time in Braavos. She and Bran were the only ones who knew of their sister’s training as a Faceless Man and she couldn’t betray her confidence, not when she had fought so hard to get it in the first place. “It’s like Ser Gendry said, I suppose. She will speak in her own time.”

Jon nodded sullenly, his gaze locked on the burning embers in front of them. His voice was rough with emotion in a way that was clear he was fighting tears.

“But how long will that be?”

Sansa couldn’t give him an answer. She didn’t know herself.”

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

If she were to say that Arya’s disappearance didn’t bother her then it would to be admit that she was lying.

After the eventful sparring session in the main courtyard, her younger sister had taken to avoiding any and all of her relations and acquaintances. When Sansa inquired after her, she would always get the same response. Nobody had seen her.

Truly, she knew that she shouldn’t be surprised. Her sister had trained with _assassins_. If she didn’t want anyone to find her then she wouldn’t be found. It was as plain and simple as that. She was able to stay her worries for the first day. If Arya needed time to collect herself then they would give her that time.

But after the sun had started to set on that first day, she began to worry a bit more. Certainly _someone_ had seen her sister _somewhere._ But no, friends and lords alike had yet to spot the Dark Wolf anywhere in the halls or yards of the castle. Sansa tried to think like her sister, but beyond the crypt, locating her sibling had proved a difficult task.

Finally, _finally,_ she thought about the practicality that her sister would surely need _some_ form of substance if she was indeed within the castle walls and as soon as the sun rose on the second day, she took to the Winterfell kitchens to inquire after her sister and this time, she knew what questions to ask.

“Has there been anyone sneaking around the kitchens lately?” Sansa asked one of the serving girls who was kneading dough for their morning meal. The young girl, a true Northerner in all her features, paused in her work to recall her thoughts.

“Aye, yeah. There’s indeed been ano’er girl. She’s got Southron colorin’ so I figured she came wit’ the Dragon Queen. I only just spotted ‘er yesterday.”

“And did you see her this morning?” Sansa pressed.

“Yes’m. She took off east ways.” The kitchen girl nodded in the direction of the godswood. Sansa thanked her with a smile and took off in the same direction, muttering to herself for being stupid. Of course, Arya had the faces. She could have walked right by anyone she knew and nobody would have been the wiser.

She paused at the entrance to the woods. It was a vast allotment of land to allow for private prayer for anyone in the castle. If her sister was indeed passing her time in the godswood, she would need a little help to move in the right direction. So she headed for the largest weirwood, knowing that Bran would be at the foot of the heart tree as he was every morning. Though he had refused to invade Arya’s privacy the day before by searching for her with his Sight or answering anyone’s questions about her relationship with the smith, Sansa hoped that he would see the need for Arya to return to life within the castle.

But she didn’t have to wait to ask her brother about their sister because there, not too far from the largest weirwood tree where the youngest Stark was sitting in his wheeled chair, was an unmasked Arya Stark, balancing on one leg as she deftly spun her blade behind her back.

“You didn’t come to dinner.” Sansa stated, loud enough to break her sister’s focus. She took in every inch of Arya’s disheveled appearance. Her clothes were wrinkled while wavy locks of hair had fallen from her usual tidy bun. “Nor did you break your fast in the hall.”

Arya shrugged and continued with her fluid water exercises. “Didn’t know it was required.”

“Arya.”

“ _Sansa_.” Her sister replied with an annoyance that mirrored her own. “I’ve been training.”

“You took off yesterday. You’re avoiding us.”

Her sister continued in her pattern of light steps across the godswood as if she hadn’t heard a word from her sibling. Frustrated, Sansa looked over her shoulder for help from their brother, only to see the clouded whites of Bran’s eyes. There was no telling how far away he was at that point. She would have to fight this on her own because there was no way she could accept her sister’s nonchalant behavior. Sansa had been there in the courtyard. It had been the most emotion she had seen Arya show since her return, minus the first evening after they had both been reunited with Jon the few days prior. There was so much more to her sister’s history with the blacksmith. She just wished that her sister had enough trust in her to share it.

“Arya,” began Sansa again. “I know how you met him.”

Arya froze, her tiny form stuck in a water dance position with Needle balancing precariously, ready to fall.

“You spoke with him?” Arya growled, her tone harsh with accusation and betrayal.

Only Sansa wouldn’t let her win, not this time. “The two of you looked ready to kill one another. Of course we tried to talk with him.”

“We?” Arya’s glare went from staring her down to where their brother sat in his chair.

“Jon and I did, yes.” Sansa corrected her. “We asked him how you knew one another but he was in too much shock, Arya. He told us that he had spent years believing you had _died_. And all he’s done in the last two days is lock himself in that forge Jon gave him. Both Jon and Ser Davos haven’t been able to get much out of him besides the fact that you met while traveling and parted ways in the Riverlands.”

Arya scoffed, telling Sansa that there was indeed more to their story than either would admit. “How did he even end up with Jon anyway? He’s an idiot.” Her voice caught with a painful break, sending a similar pain through Sansa. “He didn’t want to smith for Robb. Why is Jon different?”

“I think that’s a question for him. All I know is that Ser Davos brought Gendry to Dragonstone from King’s Landing and that he volunteered to join Jon on their mission to retrieve a wight.” Sansa could see her sister’s eyes widen in surprise.

“ _HE_ went beyond the Wall?”

She nodded, eager to keep her sister talking. “He saved them, Arya. He saved _Jon_.” She paused. “The two of them seem quite close actually.”

This brought a smile, _a true smile_ , to Arya. “I always thought they would get along.”

“Tell me about him, Arya. Please?” Sansa petitioned softly, not wanting to lose her sister to the darkness that had consumed so much of her lately. “Did you truly meet on the King’s Road?”

Her sister shook her head. “We met in King’s Landing. A Night’s Watchman had found me, disguised me as a boy. He said he would take me back to Winterfell.”

“And Gendry?”

A loud huff of annoyance escaped the Dark Wolf. “Gendry was there, yes. His smith master had sold him to the Watch.”

“And then what happened?” Sansa pressed gently, watching every change in her sister though Arya had turned away from her slightly to stare at the ground. From where she stood, she could see her sister’s gray eyes darken with memories.

Arya then spun suddenly to face her, gray eyes flashing with a dark anger. “What do you want to know, Sansa? Do you want to hear how that at one point, Gendry was all that I had? Do you want to hear how we were starved and tortured? Or did you want to hear how he decided to leave me to become a bleeding knight and how I ran away after he had been sold to some witch? You don’t spend _years_ depending on someone and then just _forget them_ , no matter how much I wanted to.” Arya smoothed at her ruffled jerkin and sheathed her sword, her eyes still dark with anger. “Excuse me, Lady Stark. I’m done training for the day.”

Sansa watched as Arya brushed past her without another word, leaving her frustrated, fists clenching her skirts in an attempt to calm herself.

“They protected one another.” A distant voice spoke from behind, causing Sansa to turn on her heel. She saw that Bran had returned to the present and that he was watching their sister walk away with a sad smile. “But she has to face those memories herself before she can share them with others.”

Sansa’s blue eyes narrowed into a glare. “Just how long has she been hiding out here with you?” Sansa demanded, only for Bran to turn back towards the tree in silence. She huffed in irritation. “You are absolutely no help whatsoever.” She said aloud to no one in particular. Annoyed with the family she had left, the Red Wolf took off in the direction that her sister had disappeared in. Arya may have returned as a different person but she had been able to catch glimpses of her sister’s old self in the number of weeks since her return and she was determined to not let those glimpses slip away.

And so she decided to try an alternative route. If her sister wouldn’t discuss her past then perhaps she would be able to get more out of the smith instead.

And it wasn’t hard to find _him_.

 _He_ was back in the master forge, where he had been for the last day and a half since his reunion with Arya in the courtyard. Though, just like Arya, he had apparently done his best to avoid any human interaction, only speaking when absolutely necessary. She had been told by Jon that Ser Davos had brought last night’s meal to the young man in order to check on him when the smith had decline to join everyone in the hall.

“Ser Gendry?” Sansa called from the threshold as she worked her way into the forge. Her call went unanswered as she entered the darkened, smoky space where the North’s collection of blacksmiths and glass workers were all doing their best to shape the dark obsidian into weapons. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she soon located the blacksmith in question, lost in his work as he watched what appeared to be a sword of dragonglass rest in the fire’s flame.

She gave herself this time to truly observe the man. They had only seen one another twice before but with his tall stature and the blackness of the stubble along his jaw, she recalled her first year in King’s Landing and Robert Baratheon’s younger brother, Renly. There would be no way for anyone who had known any of the three Baratheon brothers to deny that Gendry was indeed Robert’s son. And regardless of his parentage, this was the young man who had volunteered to fight at Jon’s side, who had _saved_ Jon and more still, had apparently traveled with Arya for years, fighting with her and keeping her safe.

She had caught a glimpse of her sister’s former self when the Baratheon smith had stepped into the courtyard the day before. She had been the Arya that they had all known, the fiery hellcat of a sister that she had grown to miss more than she had ever known possible all those years that she had been stranded in King’s Landing or on her own with Lord Baelish. She had taken their sisterhood for granted and when the time had come for them to try again, when they had been reunited, she had only found a ghost in place of the younger sister that she had prayed for.

But this blacksmith had helped Arya to be more than a ghost, even for the briefest of moments.

A sharp, loud crack pulled her back to the present and she jumped at the surprise before she heard the blacksmith curse loudly. The dragonglass sword had split in two. Sansa moved towards the flame. “Is there a problem, Ser Gendry?” Sansa spoke, louder than before.

It was his turn to jump. The black haired man spun away from the heat of the forge’s flames, his skin flushed red from the fire’s heat. “I- I’m sorry, Lady Stark, v’sorry. I didn’t see you. I was-“

“You were working. It’s quite alright.” Sansa calmed him. “Is the dragonglass difficult to handle?”

“It’s easy enough to craft into spearheads, daggers, or arrowheads. It’s o’ly that Queen Daenerys mentioned curved blades for the bloodriders. It may be too brittle for such a weapon.”

Ignoring the other smiths at work who were not so subtly eavesdropping, Sansa crossed the forge to the worktable, which was already partially covered with the amount that he had been able to cut and shape already. “Nevertheless, your work is impressive. My brother was right to name you Weaponry Commander.”

Gendry flushed at the comment, obviously embarrassed by the title that had been bestowed upon him. He tilted his head to the side in question. “Has the King sent you a message?” His voice had become set and even, the voice of someone who was fighting their own conscience.

She decided to enable that conscience. “Ser Gendry, I think we both know that I am not here on behalf of my brother … although he would benefit from the questions I have to ask.”

The sigh that escaped him was loud and broken. It was only as she moved closer that she could see the dark circles under the smith’s eyes. Like her sister, he had been fighting sleep as well.

“You’re here about Arya.”

“Is that a problem?” The Lady of Winterfell questioned, stepping closer to him. Her height gave her an advantage that she had grown comfortable using to intimidate most men but standing next to the Baratheon bastard, she suddenly felt small. Yet the smith didn’t turn away. He only avoided her gaze as he turned to retrieve a new shard of dragonglass.

“I don’t know what more I can tell you that she hasn’t told you herself. We travelled together until we weren’t together.”

“She hasn’t told us anything or at least, she hasn’t told me _much_.”

“It’s difficult for anyone to admit that they were forced to rely on a bastard smith for such a long time.” Gendry muttered in response, his gaze locked on the dragonglass in his hand.

Sansa sighed. How could those in her life be such an annoyance? “That’s not true, Gendry, and you know it.” She had dropped formalities then. This man had been a friend of Arya’s. If anyone could help to ease her sister out of the darkness that had consumed her, she had hopes that it would be this friend. “My sister … you didn’t know her as a child in Winterfell but she was always so bright. Seeing her now … it just worries me.”

Gendry continued to work in silence as he focused on chipping away at the obsidian. Sansa watched as he completed one, two, three new daggers before he finally turned back towards her. “I told you that I met your sister before the war started and that’s true. We met in King’s Landing. It was just after your lord father had been executed and beg pardon, Lady Sansa, but Arya was _a mess_ , and rightfully so.” She remained silent as he continued. “Of course she is going to be different. I know I am. But it’s like I said …” He shrugged and kept his gaze locked on the daggers on the table. “She’s still Arya.”

He spoke the truth, but it was a truth she wasn’t ready to accept. “I just want to be able _to talk_ with her.” Sansa whispered.

Gendry met her gaze directly for the first time. “Arya will talk when she’s ready. If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that nobody can force her to do _anything_ before her time.”

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

Determined to understand her sister, Sansa set off in search of answers. Arya hadn’t been seen and she knew that Jon was still upset by her absence. She felt it too. In an effort to cope with the situation, their brother had taken to visiting the forge a few times a day but as he had been able to admit to her that evening, he never managed to cross the threshold. He wasn’t sure what to say to his friend. In the days since the courtyard event, Sansa had come to understand that a strong bond had formed between the men as they traveled to and from the Wall before returning to Winterfell. Fighting alongside one another was one thing. Talking about Arya was clearly another.

Her sister couldn’t avoid everyone forever. There was a war on the horizon, training would become a focus when the last of the lords arrived. Arya would be needed and if she wasn’t ready to face her family then she would have to talk with _someone_.

Arya had always seemed to enjoy her training sessions with Brienne. The two could spend hours in the courtyard training with the Knights of the Vale. Afterwards, her sister would be open to questions and almost _lighthearted._ A training session with Brienne could be exactly what her sister needed. But she hadn’t seen her sworn shield in the courtyard with Ser Royce or the other knights and there had been no answer when she stopped by to knock on Brienne’s chamber door. Sansa turned away from the living quarters and began to make her way towards the armory, her thoughts on her elusive sister. Would Arya ever _truly_ trust her with everything that she had been through?

It was unsettling and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow failed her own sister.

The same thought was clawing at her when she opened the door to the armory and called for her sworn shield. “Lady Brienne?”

_CRASH._

There was the sound of something falling to the floor before a startled face appeared from over the cabinet of practice swords. Podrick’s brown eyes were wide form being startled but his face brightened upon recognizing her.

“Lady Sansa!” He exclaimed. “How can I – I mean – what can I –“ Podrick paused and inhaled deeply as he came around the side of the cabinet to stand in front of her. “You called for Lady Brienne?”

“Yes. I wanted to ask for her help.”

Podrick’s face fell slightly. “Oh. I know she went with Lord Manderly and a few others to fetch supplies from Winter Town.” His gaze darted across the armory to where the shields were stacked before he looked back to her. “But … can I help instead, my lady?”

“Not unless you’ve seen my sister today.” Sansa answered quickly, with more snark than she meant to reveal. Guilt made her face flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay.” He answered. “But no, I haven’t seen her. Not since …” Podrick fell silent and Sansa thought back to that afternoon in the courtyard. He had been there alongside Brienne. “I’m sorry, Lady Sansa.”

She stared back at him in confusion. “What for? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Podrick shrugged. “Perhaps not. But you’re upset by it all and I can’t do anything.”

His declaration was so heartfelt that it sent a wave of warmth through her. The squire’s comment had been made with the utmost sincerity. Because that was part of who he was, wasn’t it?

Thoughts of Arya and concern over the foreign army that had settled within the castle moved to the back of her mind as she gave herself a moment to truly look at the man before her. Podrick Payne had somehow become a constant figure in her life. He had been there though her time in King’s Landing and as he had explained to her after their reunion, sent away from King’s Landing to squire for the woman who had dedicated her life to the Stark sisters’ safety. She could still remember the day that Brienne had pledged herself to remain at her side. Podrick had been there too, standing behind the kneeling warrior and helping her to remember the lord’s vow when her mind had been such a mess of fear, adrenaline, and relief. She smiled at the memory. “How long have we known one another, Podrick? Is it five years?”

“Six, my lady.” He corrected her, looking up to meet her gaze. There was something about the depth of his dark brown gaze that drew her to him. There was a warmth, a familiarity.

Sansa nodded. “Six years that feel like a life time.” She felt her body relax with the smile that he gave her. It was soothing. “Do you miss the south at all? I’m afraid I’ve never asked.”

“You’ve had no reason to.” Podrick answered honestly. She was glad to see that he had relaxed away from the anxious squire that she had startled. He blinked slowly as he thought through his response. “But I’ve come to like the North, grown fond of it. The people are kind. They’re honest.”

“Perhaps a bit too honest.” Sansa mused as she recalled Tyrion’s retelling of Jon’s fealty declaration from the truce summit. She chased the thoughts away with a shake of her head. “But I am glad to hear that you are comfortable in Winterfell. My family and I owe you a great deal for the role that both you and Brienne have played.”

Podrick’s smile was sincere as he met her gaze once more. “You don’t owe me anything, Sansa.” His eyes grew wide at his own slip in formality and he began to stammer. “I – I mean, Sansa. No, _Lady_ Sansa. P-Please forgive-“

“There is nothing to forgive.” She answered him warmly, amused by the flush in his cheeks. An idea came to mind. “Are you working on anything right now? Perhaps we could meet Lady Brienne in Winter Town. I would like to see what she was working on.” The squire glanced around the armory once more before shaking his head in response to indicate that he was free. “Good.” She turned and led him into the hallway.

They walked in silence but remained close to one another as they made their way through the halls of the castle. There was comfort in the silence but she also felt the stirrings of a new sense of comfort. The comfort of being near someone. Sansa released a heavy sigh that she hadn’t known she had been holding. She felt Podrick move close as they continued down the corridor and she became increasingly aware of how close their hands were to one another’s. If she moved to her right then her fingers would be able to brush against his own as they walked.

The thought calmed and excited her at the same time. It was rather confusing.

“I don’t know much about families, my lady.” Podrick began after they had made their way back to the main corridor. “But I think that anyone in Westeros would envy the bond that you Starks share. I was there when you were reunited with Jon Snow. I saw how happy you were then and in the days after Lord Bran and Lady Arya returned. Your sister may not want to talk right now but that doesn’t mean she won’t ever.”

His words were a balm to her and a part of her conscience wondered just how the stumble tongue squire had come to know her so well. But, as they had discussed, they had known one another for more than half a decade. He was a fair fighter and a trusted friend. She couldn’t help but to smile at him in return. “Thank you, Podrick. Sometimes … it’s just easy to forget some of the good.”

They had stopped now and he had turned to face her as she spoke. She realized then that they stood at the same height because he gaze locked with her own. The hopeful smile that he gave her radiated a warmth that spread from her fingertips to her toes.

It had a startling effect.

“Never forget the good, my lady. Sometimes it is all that we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gendrya Week is almost here! I would absolutely love it if you all would vote for the week of August 11th-17th but I am biased because that's my birthday week AND the week that our hope for Gendrya was reborn (Eastwatch premiered on August 13th). So ... here's the voting link. :D https://poll.fm/10334050 
> 
> Thank you all so much for all the supportive comments from the last chapter! 
> 
> This was a long one, I know. Originally, the POVs bopped from Gendry to Jon to Sansa and back but I wanted to center it around one viewpoint for the chapter. Gendry and Jon go back to their brooding selves and so it would leave Sansa with a ton of questions of her own. Everyone's thoughts are running all over the place so I really, really hope that this chapter does the last one justice. I wanted to explore scenes with pairings beyond AryaxGendry (but trust me, we'll get plenty of just the two of them) and of course, there is the inspiration for the Podrick x Sansa bit. After rewatching the heart to heart between Brienne and Podrick in Season 5, I hope that his conversation with her didn't seem too far out there or OOC. Pod really is such a sweetheart. 
> 
> Up Next: Arya rejoins everyone at Winterfell and ultimately gives in to all the questions haunting her.


	6. Hurts Like Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks meets with Daenerys and her advisers to discuss short and long term plans for the wars that they face. All the while, Arya battles with the emotions that she's been suppressing for days and continues to battle with her own identity. 
> 
> Chapter Song - Hurts like Hell by Fleurie

**ARYA **

 

Arya Stark found herself standing outside the hall and hesitating. After all that she had done, it was a room full of strangers that gave her cause to hesitate. It wasn’t the meeting itself that made her feel as if her stomach was stuck in a permanent twist. It was the fact that she would soon stand face to face with Jon and Sansa for the first time since she had stormed out of the courtyard. They were two of three people who had the power to weaken the icy barrier that she used to separate herself from those around her.

She couldn’t allow herself to think about the third.

Thankfully, there had been too much to do after training with the fighters and she had been able to busy herself with helping the Northerners fortify the castle’s defenses. Trenchers were still being dug and she had made an extra effort to work with the women pledged to fight. She thought of her mother as she spoke to them. _‘Death cares nothing about gender. It will take a lady just the same.’_

Death had already come for her and her family. She was going to do everything in her power to stop it from taking any more of her loved ones.

“Lady Arya.” A deep voice called her name, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked to see Podrick and Lady Brienne approaching the entryway.

She acknowledged each with a nod and allowed for them to pass so that she was able to slip in behind Podrick so that she could move into the corner’s shadows to better observe everyone who had gathered in the war room. Jon was standing next to the Dragon Queen at the head of the table where she had gathered her own advisors. Arya looked away from Tyrion Lannsiter and the spymaster to recognize the female translator and the men she knew to the Unsullied and Dothraki leaders. At the far side of the room, Brienne and Podrick joined Sansa where she stood next to Bran in his chair near the fireplace. Her sister smiled at the approaching pair and Arya watched Podrick move close in order to lean towards Sansa, who leaned in to him in return. He had whispered something in her sister’s ear just before she saw Sansa’s smile brighten as she looked away from the squire and began to search the room, finally managing to spy where Arya herself stood in the shadows. The Lady of Winterfell beckoned for Arya to join them.

Arya gave in reluctantly, ignoring everyone else as she moved to her sister’s side.

Sansa smiled. “I thought for sure that you’d be with the archers or off training some other group.”

“Jon asked me to be here,” explained Arya as she looked around the room once more. “Are we all that’s been invited?” She took due note of the lack of Northern lord presents.

“I believe so.” Sansa’s gaze darkened as she looked back around the room. Arya didn’t have to turn to know that she was now watching Jon and Daenerys. It was a difficult situation. Though Arya was grateful for the alliance with the Dragon Queen, she still felt the sting of losing the Norther’s independence after all that her siblings had fought for. But as Jon had repeated over and over since returning from the South, the only thing that mattered was the Night King. Daenerys Targaryen was determined to fight for the North and to remove Cersei Lannister from the throne. By her book, that made the queen an ally.

It was then that Daenerys turned away from her advisors to smile at the Stark siblings from across the room. “Have all of your people arrived?” She asked, her gaze darting to Arya directly. Arya couldn’t bring herself to smile but she managed to nod in recognition as she moved to stands beside Sansa towards the middle of the table. Daenerys followed Jon to the head of the table. Her smile grew. “It is good to meet you formally, Lady Arya. Your brother has told me so much about you.” The smile the queen held was warm and genuine. Even without the allure of dragons, Arya could see why people were drawn to the young queen.

And it was the way that Jon was watching them that helped her to smile at the Dragon Queen in return. Her brother looked so hopeful and happy, despite everything. For him, she would make an effort. Arya nodded once more. “Thank you, Your Grace, for being here.” She paused as stories of Targaryen queens raced through her mind. “I saw your dragons fly over town when you first arrived. They’re magnificent.”

“They’re terrifying.” Jon joked.

“They’re both.” Daenerys agreed, meeting Jon’s gaze with a smile. Arya felt her stomach twist at the look shared between the two of them. They looked practically entranced by one another. Could Jon have told the queen of his parentage? Her chain of thought was broken when Daenerys finally looked away from Jon and turned to address the room. “I think it’s time that we all began.” Everyone around the room moved to take their place around the table, where a map and army markers had been placed. Arya watched as the queen’s advisors moved to stand on both sides of her while Brienne and Podrick placed themselves on the other side of Sansa.

Jon began to speak. The smile he had given Daenerys had quickly been replaced with a frown. “We all know why we’re here. The Night King and his army have breached the Wall and are moving south. We have to prepare.”

“We’ve _been_ preparing.” Sansa reminded him sharply. “The last of the Northern lords arrived yesterday. We are recruiting houses from across Westeros. And everyone of age spends all their time training when they are not working to build our defenses. All that being said, we need a _plan_.”

Arya looked about the group that had gathered in the room. The time that she had spent as Tywin Lannsiter’s cupbearer came rushing back as she recalled all the hours where nothing but battle strategies had been discussed. “If the dead march for Winterfell, do we meet them in the field?”

“There are too many.” Daenerys answered. “I saw them, beyond the Wall. A hundred thousand. Maybe more.”

A chilling quiet fell throughout the room but Arya refused to let Death silence any more of her pack. Jon had trusted in her and her training enough to make her Master-at-Arms. She didn’t care what others thought about her but she _did_ care about what happened to her family. She turned to her sister. “With the Northern army and the Knights of the Vale, what are our final numbers?”

“That depends.” Sansa looked to Brienne. “I asked you here because you and Podrick were able to speak with the Riverlords as you returned from the capital.”

Jon appeared confused. “The Riverlords?”

Sansa nodded and Arya saw her gaze briefly dart over in her direction. “Our Uncle Edmure has taken his place as the Lord of Riverrun. Whoever disposed of the Freys ensured that he was freed from the cell.”

“And you’ve asked for help form the Riverlords?” Tyrion questioned, as if confused by the action. “They have yet to declare for either our queen or my sister. Can you trust him?”

Her sister was unfazed by the way she stared down the queen’s Hand but Arya spoke first. “As I am sure you have heard my brother say, this war is bigger than all of us, Lannister. Our uncle has pledged his bannermen and while family may not mean much in the South, here it-“ Arya’s voice caught. She had heard the door creak open but had paid no mind when Ser Davos had appeared on the other side.  At least she hadn’t until she saw the person who had followed the old smuggler. _‘Seven bleeding hells.’_ If someone had pressed her in that moment, she would have certainly failed the Game of Faces. It was her first time seeing him since their fight in the courtyard and he just looked so … Gendry.

Doing her best to ignore the blacksmith who was now not so subtly staring in her direction, she turned back to Tyrion. “Family means something in the North.” It was all she could say before taking a small step back from the table. She looked everywhere but at the man who had moved to stand between Ser Davos and the Dothraki leader.

To her surprise and confusion, Daenerys smiled upon seeing Gendry and greeted him warmly. “Ser Gendry! Hello. Thank you for taking a break from your work in the forge.” Arya met Sansa’s side eye with a raised eyebrow. Neither of them had expected _that_.

Sansa stepped closer to the table, redirecting the conversation. “Our men have been digging trenches along the north gate but if the Night King has broken through the Wall then we may not have time to place it around the entire castle.”

“We’ll use what we have to finish the trench along that side but we need to think about fires. Only dragonglass and fire alone can stop them.” Jon explained, his gaze falling to the map of the North that was displayed on the table.

“That, and Valyrian steel.” Gendry added, surprising them all by speaking voluntarily. His face flushed as if he hadn’t realized he had made his comment aloud. His gaze darted from Jon to Arya and back again. “Beyond the Wall, you killed a Walker with Longclaw.”

Something stirred within Arya at the thought of Jon and Gendry fighting side by side but she did her best to smother it as she watched Varys step forwards. “Perhaps the Warden of the North should speak with your banners. Anyone with such a blade should be considered when we form our method of attack.”

Arya thumbed the handle of the catspaw dagger that Bran had given to her upon her return. The fleeting image of her using it against Littlefinger flashed through her mind and when she looked up, she saw Gendry’s bright blue gaze staring back into her own.

He smiled. She ignored it.

Daenerys spoke once more. “When the time comes, my armies and dragons will play their role.” She exchanged a meaningful glance with the Dothraki leader. “And the Dothraki shall lead the charge.”

“Alongside the Knights of the Vale.” Sansa added.

“But what kind of weapons will they be armed with?” Tyrion questioned. “I’ve only seen arrowheads and daggers made from the dragonglass.”

“We’re makin’ new weapons from it.” Davos answered. “Spears, lances, and the like. It’s just a’matter of production.”

“And how would you say weapon production is coming along, Ser Gendry?” Daenerys’ question itself was straightforward but it was her casual tone that caught Arya’s attention. She had spoken to Gendry as if speaking to a friend.

He must have noticed as well because she could see the back of his neck flush red in embarrassment. His gaze darted around the group of advisors gathered at the table, resting briefly on her before he looked back towards where Jon and Daenerys were standing. Gendry cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s as well as t’be expected, Your Grace. I ‘ave both a day and night shift workin’ to make as many as possible.”

“And the arakhs?” Daenerys asked. “Were you able to make the curved blades once you got to the forge?”

Gendry blinked rapidly. “Uh. Yeah. They, uh, I’ve made a few of ‘em and I’m training the other smiths to make ‘em as well.”

“Krahbo, have you seen them?” The Dragon Queen turned to the Dothraki leader in question.

He nodded. “Arakh is good. _Mahrazh hammer movelat vov davra._ ”

Both Daenerys and her translator smiled at the man’s reply. Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion and he looked to the queen for a translation. She laughed softly, her violet eyes bright. “He said, ‘Hammer Man makes a good weapon.’”

Everyone around the table chuckled in turn and Jon made a teasing comment having a new name that made both the smile and the queen laugh aloud. Arya felt a new twist in her stomach at the sound. They all seemed so friendly with him. She felt a rush of heat to her face at the thought. It was unsettling. She was Arya Stark. A trained assassin. She wasn’t _jealous_.

Was she?

It was the Unsullied Commander who broke her focus. He had pointed to the collection of stones that marked the Night’s King’s army. “How much time?”

They all looked at one another with uneasy and uncertain expressions. Arya looked to Bran, who had rolled his chair closer to the fire. “Are you able to see them again? Can you still look for the Others?”

Bran looked up at her with the same unsettling stare that now seemed to be his _only_ expression. “I can try.” He murmured in a vague tone. She thought of the last time that her brother had seen the Night King in his visions. Judging by her clouded expression, Sansa must have been thinking the same thing.  

Jon looked to Sansa. “And the Knights of the Vale? Has Baelish gone to call their remaining banner men?”

It was the heavy feeling that settled in the room which helped her to understand. Arya looked to Sansa with her brow raised high. Jon had been back for days and apparently had still not been informed of the execution that had taken place just a few weeks prior. Whispers of the execution would reach the Spyder’s ears, if they hadn’t already. It was only a matter of time before someone related the information to the new arrivals. She thought of the tension between Sansa and the Dragon Queen. Surely someone would twist the truth for their own benefit.

She met Sansa’s side gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. Sansa returned her silent question with a nod but made no attempt to speak first. Arya then turned to meet her brother’s gaze, pausing to appreciate the Stark gray that was reflected in her own.

“Littlefinger is dead. And the Knights remain loyal to Sansa.” Her voice was steady as she prepared herself for a conversation that could reveal more than she had intended. Jon would have questions afterwards. She was certain of it.

The news obviously meant something to Tyrion Lannister, whose eyes had widened in surprised. “Dead? But how?”

“Lord Baelish was executed for treason.” Sansa answered everyone clearly. “He was responsible for more than anyone could realize.”

“Lord Baelish?” Daenerys questioned as her violet eyes darkened. She looked to her Hand. “Do you know this man?”

“He became Lord Protector of the Vale but before that, he was the Master of Coin who put the kingdom in massive debt.” Tyrion answered Daenerys slowly before he turned back to stare directly at Sansa.

Daenerys nodded in a form of recognition. “The brothel owner.” She said in acceptance. “And he was executed for treason here in Winterfell?”

“He was executed the Northern way,” Sansa admitted. “The man had murdered our Aunt Lysa and others.”

“He was planning to turn the Northern lords against Jon.” Arya explained coldly, omitting the fact that he had also planned to turn Sansa against herself. “With the chance of you riding North with our brother, Your Grace, we couldn’t allow the threat to continue. I took care of him.” She admitted without hesitation.

A few pairs of eyes around the table widened at her confession, Jon’s included. Her stomach twisted. And despite everything she had told herself that she wouldn’t do, Arya spared a glance down the table where Gendry stood near Davos. Their eyes met and she inhaled sharply at the nod that he gave her in response. She saw no shock or disgust in his bright blue gaze, instead, she felt a warmth of shared understanding.

It was Jon who could only blink in response. “You took care of him?”

“I cut his throat.” Arya answered steadily, her gaze unwavering as she looked to her brother.

“He was _executed_.” Sansa clarified in a tone that was filled with no more remorse than Arya’s.

Jon Snow took a step back at the news. He appeared confused as he looked from one sister to the other.

Sansa’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, exposing her irritation. “Petyr Baelish was a traitorous man responsible for many crimes against House Stark, including the betrayal that led to our own father’s wrongful imprisonment. A man like that would be a danger to the North, and to our allies.” She raised her chin in defense of their actions but none was needed.

Nobody spoke against the Lady of Winterfell.

It was Sansa’s declaration that seemed to change something within the Dragon Queen’s mind. Daenerys was watching Sansa more closely and Arya could detect the faintest trace of approval in the smile that the queen held. “I am grateful to you both.” The queen spoke with a clear gratitude. “As your brother has often said, we need to stand united against the Night King. Any threat to turn allies, or families, against one another should not be tolerated.” Daenerys inhaled deeply. “Which is why I want us all to speak with the Northern lords.”

“All of us?” Sansa questioned as she looked from Daenerys to the group that stood around the table. She was clearly suspicious.

Daenerys nodded. “The Northern lords trust and respect the Stars and their allies from the Vale. We all saw how they responded upon my arrival. I have faced similar issues in Meereen and do not wish to repeat the events that happened there.” The way her advisors all shifted their weight and avoided one another’s gaze told Arya that there was more to understand.

Jon, who seemed to have finally recovered from the shock of learning that his sisters had plotted an execution finally spoke. His voice was heavy. “So the Northern lords have arrived with everyone and the Riverlords are marching this way.”

Sansa nodded. “I have sent a raven to my cousin Robin and his advisors in the Eyrie but winters can be harsh there so Commander Royce has also sent two of his men.”

“Will they arrive in time? Travelling through the hills is not an easy feat,” questioned Tyrion.

Arya watched her sister shake her head in a reluctant uncertainly. “There is no way to know until they make contact. To be safe, I wouldn’t count them towards our numbers.”

It was Varys who spoke next.

“Two dragons, Unsullied and Dothraki forces, banner men from the Riverlands, and every person who is able to fight from the North. Quite an army.” The slight sarcasm in his tone was not lost on them all.

“Then there are the Lannister forces to consider.” Tyrion spoke brightly, though his face revealed his own uncertainty. “My sister has pledged her support. The armies from the South are marching north.”

Arya scoffed openly. While Tyrion Lannister had been welcomed to Winterfell as the Queen’s advisor, she could not manage the hold any respect for his sister. “Dragons, the Others, and Cersei Lannister on our side. The world really is ending.”

“Arya,” spoke Jon in a warning tone but she was more interested in the soft laugh that had escaped from the blacksmith that she had been doing her best to ignore.

She shrugged unapologetically. Sansa’s own smirk did not go unnoticed either. And even from where he stood near the end of the table, Arya could feel his gaze on her. When she looked up to meet his gaze directly, Gendry only stared back in the stubborn determination that made her want to shove him.

_Stupid, stubborn, bullheaded blacksmith._

Jon’s voice broke her chain of thought and called her back to the present. “Cersei Lannister has pledged the Southron forces and so they should be taken into account.”

“Then you’re a fool.” Sansa declared firmly and turned away from Gendry in order to watch her siblings. Sansa broke away from Jon’s frustrated glance before looking to Arya and then on to the Dragon Queen. “She helped to imprison our father on false charges that led to his wrongful execution, all while working with Lord Baelish to keep her children in power.”

“And she’s allowed royal troops to terrorize the Seven Kingdoms ever since.” Arya explained bitterly as her hatred for the woman began to boil beneath her skin. “All she cares about is keeping power for herself.” Remembering everything that she had witnessed since leaving King’s Landing had her reaching down to grip Needle’s hilt for comfort.

Gendry’s voice broke the silence.

“She blew up everyone in the Sept of Baelor.” He said, speaking voluntarily once more. His voice was heavy with emotion and Arya couldn’t help but to meet his gaze. “Women. Children. Everyone. I was there.” His blue eyes were dark with the memories of the day. She knew that he was on her side without him having to say another word. Gendry turned to face the Targaryen queen with his brow furrowed. “Lady Sansa is right, Your Grace. You shouldn’t trust Cersei Lannister.” Arya watched Daenerys process Gendry’s words, and though her Hand was clearly troubled by what had been said, the queen herself appeared thoughtful.

She pointed to the map where the army markers were located. “What is our next step then? If our combined armies secure the North it will not be without significant losses. How are we to displace her from the Throne if we may not have the numbers to take the capital?” To her credit, Arya noted that the queen did not seem angry at the idea of losing her troops to their cause, but she was genuinely concerned by the plan for what could come after. “Our first threat is the Night King,” Daenerys agreed in order to calm Jon’s growing unease. “But the Lannister threat should not be forgotten.”

Everyone allowed the queen’s words to hover in the air as uncertainty glances were exchanged. Arya focused her attention on the map that had been laid out across the table. Her gaze traveled away from where the markers were centered around Winterfell and down to where the map cut off at the end of the North’s territory in the Neck. She inhaled slowly. “The right person could slip into the Red Keep. If we have to take control quickly then it should be done from inside the keep’s own walls.” Arya theorized as she stared down at the map, her eyes trained on the King’s Road. She could feel the cold darkness associated with No One starting to return. She was cold, calculating.

Tyrion shook his head. “Any spy that we send into the capital would be uncovered by Qyburn and his own growing network of spies.”

“A Faceless Man could do it.” Sansa explained.

A chill swept through the room, silencing a number of council members as uncertainly flashed through their eyes. Varys shifted uncomfortable while he exchanged a hesitant look with Lord Tyrion. Daenerys’ translator’s eyes had widened in shock but Arya could only feel her own frustration at her sister’s open suggestion. She inhaled deeply through her nose in an effort to calm herself as she turned to gauge Jon and Daenerys’ reaction, only to see that Gendry’s brow had knotted together with his jaw clenched. His blue eyes had darkened into black pools and he was glaring directly at her. Arya exhaled and turned her gaze away from him, raising her chin and doing her best to spear as unfeeling as the Unsullied commander who stood a few paces away.

“…Faceless … Man?” Jon questioned. “Aren’t they-“

“Assassins. Yes.” Sansa answered clearly. “But their … _training_ would make for one to be an excellent spy, one that wouldn’t be uncovered by Qyburn.” The Lady of Winterfell only briefly glanced across the room but Arya knew that her gaze had hovered over herself, something she hoped would go unnoticed by both Jon and Gendry.

“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion spoke, “think of your suggestion. The rumors regarding this men … to even _consider_ …”

“What do you mean?” Jon demanded. “What training?”

“Those assassins,” the queen’s translator, _Missandei_ , began,” are so named because they change their faces, though how they are able to do so remains a secret.”

“You can see why it would be a concern. An assassin who can change their face? What would stop them from being more than a spy? If they moved against you, how could you find a hired blade without a face?” Varys reasoned cryptically.

“They are rumored to worship a God of Death and slip through the shadows like Death itself.” Missandei added, her brown eyes just as wide as they had been. Arya reached down once more in order to grip Needle’s hilt, taking comfort from the sense of security that it brought to her.

“They don’t exist.” Brienne spoke with a shake of her head.

“Forgive me, m’lady,” Davos met the woman’s gaze from where he stood across the table. “But after seeing dragons and knowing the dead walk, would you question it? I’ve said t’ Braavos on many o’casion. The people of the Free Cities know of them.”

“But if we knew one . . . “ Sansa pressed and Arya stared straight ahead in an effort to deliberately ignore her own sister.

Tyrion released a shaky laugh. “It is a good jest, my dear lady, but seeing as these magic men are just a whisper…” His lips pursed and he shrugged his shoulders to raise the idea.

“I knew one.” Gendry spoke, breaking his own silence. Arya turned to watch him, ignoring what her own mind was telling her not to do. His eyes were still just as dark as he glared at everyone surrounding the table, or more specifically, at herself.

He had managed to work his way under her skin once more as she broke their locked glare between them to look back at her sister. The glare she gave Sansa was just as deadly. “There is no use mentioning such a thing. We have neither the gold, nor manner of contact.” The dark Stark sister turned her attention to where Tyrion and Varys sat together. “If a spy within the city would not work, then what _would you_ suggest?”

The Queen’s Hand began his own explanation of what they should do in the event that they were able to march south but Arya could only focus on the unsettling emotions that were coursing through her. The way Sansa had suggested the assassin, the way Gendry had reacted with anger, how she had to publically cut down the decision before it could move any further, they were enough to tear at the cool reserve that she had done her best to build up throughout the day.

She didn’t know why she did it but when she looked up once more in order to meet Gendry’s gaze, she saw that his gaze was as dark as the dragonglass that he carved. Jon wouldn’t know of her connection to the Faceless Men, that much was obviously, but she held a sinking suspicion that Gendry was on his way to forming his own conclusion. He would remember the King’s Road. He would remember Harrenhal.

It shouldn’t bother her.

But it did.

And it continued to bother her throughout the rest of the meeting so that she was only able to partially focus on what the Dragon Queen was saying about her plans to retake the Seven Kingdoms while Jon would reiterate his concerns about the North and their inability to predict the Night King’s movements. As the meeting disbanded, Arya’s irritation with everything that had transpired only grew. After watching Jon part ways from Daenerys in order to speak privately with Ser Davos, she saw how Gendry had turned away from the group and made off in the opposite direction of the others. Seething and seeking an outlet for her anger, she made to follow him as soon as everyone else had started to disperse. Sansa caught her eye and raised an eyebrow in question but Arya ignored her sister as she took off after the blacksmith who had stormed out. She was in no mood to deal with her sister’s questions either.

She soon caught sight of him in the hall.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Arya demanded as she rounded the corner and caught up with Gendry. “You shouldn’t go running-“

“Oh, so now m’lady deems me a bastard worth talking to?” He had come to a stop in the corridor and turned to face her. In that moment, she was struck by how imposing he appeared to be with his height and the muscles gained from years in the forge. They were standing so close that she had to tilt her head back in order to glare up at his stupid, stubborn face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gendry scoffed. “It means that you took off the other day ‘nd I haven’t seen you since. You’d been gone for _years_ , Arya. I thought-“ He exhaled and threw his hands up in frustration. “Well, I dunno what I thought. I’m just the smith, aren’t I? There’s no need for a lady to be talkin’ with a smith.” He moved to turn away but her head reached out and caught his arm before her mind had realized what her heart was doing. Despite the care that her action would suggest, she could still feel her anger bubbling inside at the memory of him glaring at her from across the room.

“Are you really so stupid? Gods, Gendry. Jon made you his Weaponry Commander, didn’t he? He trusts you!”

“But do you trust me?” Gendry was the one making demands this time as he stared down at her. His blue gaze had darkened with an anger that she had only seen a handful of times before. Her stomach twisted at the powerful mix of emotions that his anger and question had brought to her. At one point, she _had_ trusted him with her life. She probably still trusted him now. But the words were caught in her throat under where her heart seemed to be stuck.

Why was it so hard to tell him?

“Gendry, I . . .”

She couldn’t say it. Her hand fell away from and back to her side. The loss of warmth that had radiated from the touch did not go unnoticed.

But Gendry was somehow still the angry one while Arya remained confused by her emotions. She could see his jaw clench and unclench before he began his new question. “You went there, didn’t you? You found _him_?”

Arya didn’t have to ask who he had meant. It wasn’t the first time that they had argued over the Lorathi and even though the last argument had felt like another lifetime ago, her anger was still quick to rise. “It’s none of your damn business.” She retorted with an icy chill to her voice as she attempted to steel herself against her emotions. “You left. Remember?” She risked making eye contact then but felt the smallest flare of satisfaction when she saw him hurt by her mention of their past separation. At that same time, the satisfaction was met with the urge slip her arms around his waist and pull him to her so that her face was buried into his chest.

The idea startled her.

Dangerous emotions were threatening to return. She had to get away.

Breaking away from where they stood so close that she could see the faint smudges of ash on his neck, Arya forced herself to walk away or else risk having to face everything that she had forced herself to leave behind all those years before.

“I wouldn’t – I didn’t think- I-“ Gendry had turned to follow her but she couldn’t let him. The sound of footsteps drove her to break into a run towards the darkest parts of the corridor. She couldn’t let him get close. Being close hurt worse than the seven hells.

“Arya!”

Gendry continued to call after once she had disappeared by slipping into a hidden corridor. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision as she leaned her head back against the wall and looked towards the ceiling, praying to whatever god that would listen to stop the constricting pain that she felt in her chest as she heard him continue on down the hall in search of her. Every “Arya” that he called out into the darkness had the sharp pain of a fresh wound.

There was an army of dead men marching for them all and a false lion queen to kill.

She couldn’t afford to be Arya Stark in that moment, not with the emotions that Arya Stark would continue to fight.

She would have to be No One. 

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

It was the clash of steel that now haunted both her waking hours and her dreams.

All the attempts to rid herself of the emotions were lost once her mind had started to bring back the sounds of their sparring from wherever she had tried to bury it deep within herself in order to forget. Arya’s nights had been filled with unwanted memories that somehow hurt more than any blade. There _he_ was on the King’s Road, at Harrenhal, the Riverlands, in _Winterfell_. How many times had she wished for him to somehow make it to the North? She cursed herself for letting her emotions get the best of her in the training yard. The Kindly Man would have frowned upon such a girl.

It had taken her the better part of that evening to collect her thoughts and to push her emotions back beneath the cool façade she normally hid behind. Arya had slipped into the shadows and left him behind while a part of her had started to break after seeing him alive after all those years. He had been dragged away by the Red Woman. She had _mourned_ for him. And because of him, names had found themselves on her list.

Except he was alive.

And she had felt a tiny part of her icy exterior crack at the look in his eyes when the arm of his _stupid war hammer_ had stopped her blade. Those eyes had haunted her dreams, making her feel as if she had lost yet another part of her pack. It hadn’t mattered that he had wanted to join some stupid brotherhood. All that had mattered was that he had been her friend and being separated from him in that way had hurt like the seven hells combined. Even on her darkest days in Braavos, the small part of Arya Stark who hid beneath No One would look out at the bright blue sky and be reminded of the bastard blacksmith who had somehow always managed to make her smile.

No One had been forced to ignore those feelings because No One wasn’t supposed _to feel anything._

But she wasn’t No One. Not anymore.

She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. She was human, not a monster. She should be allowed to remember the feelings that No One had been forced to ignore.

It was all easier said than done. As Arya slept, she dreamt of how he had looked at her in the training yard. Years had passed between them and he still managed to work his way under her skin. It was frustrating. It was confusing. It was exhausting.

It was the clash of steel as their weapons had made contact, the flash of blue as his eyes had teased her. It was the satisfaction of hearing him swear when her blade had made contact with his skin, forever marking him. And it was the way that he had felt beneath her when they had crashed to the ground. His hands, **_a blacksmith’s hands_. **Hands that molded so easily seemed to have a similar effect on her. And there, in the middle of the courtyard, it had somehow just been the two of them and she hadn’t felt like the monster who haunted her dreams.

She had felt human.

Because in that moment, she hadn’t been the Dark Wolf, hadn’t been a killer. She hadn’t been No One. She had just been Arya Stark and he had just been Gendry.

And that had **_hurt._**

_A girl is not supposed to feel confused._

There they were in Harrenhal. His eyes were locked with her own as he was strapped into the interrogation chair. The intensity in her blue gaze told her not to be afraid and she had sent a prayer to the gods to somehow spare him. To spare her friend.

_A girl is supposed to be focused on training, focused on vengeance._

There they were in the Riverlands. He had become a member of the Brotherhood, for reasons she would never understand. And just as quickly as he had become a member, he had been sold to the Red Witch. She was powerless to stop them and she had hated herself for her own weakness in the many weeks that followed. He had been put in shackles and carted off despite the many curses that she had thrown at everyone in the room. He had been _taken_ and he had _died._

Except he hadn’t.

_A boy is a distraction. A boy should be taken away._

The vision that appeared before her felt like a memory, it was so rich in detail. He stood before her with his hands on her waist as he pulled her against him. The skin around his eyes crinkled from the bright smile that he gave her as he stared down at and she stared up at him. He breathed her name, her true name, giving her back the identity that she only tried to escape. In the sense of warmth and security that being in his arms brought to her, she stood up onto her toes in order to bring him closer, to see the dot of freckles that formed across his nose.

And then he was gone, being torn out of her arms by a man without a face whose voice she knew would somehow still haunt her for the rest of eternity.

_A boy is a distraction. He should be removed._

“No!”

Gasping and reaching out for someone she knew wouldn’t be there, Arya woke with a start. She could feel the beads of sweat lining her brow as her chest heaved in panic. It had been a dream, hadn’t it? The Faceless Men and the Red Woman hadn’t come for Gendry. But it had felt so real that she could be sure.

_I have to find him._

She was out of bed and reaching for her dagger before her mind had even realized what she was doing. If there was any chance that it wasn’t a dream then she was going to find those responsible. Her heart ached with the memory of the pained expression on his face that had mirrored her own when he had been dragged away by the Red Woman the first time around. But as she made her way through the shadows of the castle, a voice continued to haunt her.

_A girl is not supposed to be confused._

_A girl is not supposed to feel her heart slam against her chest, all because of a boy._

_A girl is supposed to be training, focused on vengeance._

They had been what she had repeated to herself when she had first ran away from the courtyard those days prior, when she had run away from Gendry, from her siblings, from herself.

Confusion. Relief. Happiness. Pain. Betray. All these were just a few of the emotions that she had felt in the days since his return. There was still the twisting tightness in her chest that she wasn’t quite sure how to describe. The jumbled feelings had become more unsettling than it had been to see him alive after all those years of her believing he was dead. She had done her best to retreat from the emotions but she had failed.

She was Arya Stark but she was also somehow still a Faceless Man. The Faceless Men did not fight with useless feelings. A Faceless Man was quiet, unattached. Being a Faceless Man had given her the power to cross those names off her list that she had whispered to herself for nights on end. In Braavos, when the Waif was beating her bloody because she still clung to identity, she had been forced to hide Arya Stark beneath a wall of ice and snow. It was the only way for her to continue with the training that she had desperately needed. She told herself that she had needed to defend herself, to take back the power that had been stripped away from her so many times before. A girl could not become a No One if she clung to the memories of her family and friend, her best friend.

Coming back to Winterfell had been the first breach to her wall. Her thoughts had overwhelmed her with the memories of the last time she had crossed the Sea. She had fled the dying Hound. Before that, she had fled the Brotherhood. And she had only fled them because she no longer had anyone, not even Gendry. They had been through _so much_ together. She had trusted him with her name. She had trusted him with her life. They had faced the God of Death on countless occasions and had survived. At one point he had been all that she had. They had spent their days together. They had spent their nights together. They had been inseparable before the stupid Brotherhood was involved.

How many nights had she broken down and cried against him in the night when the dark reality had taken over? How many times had he called her a pain in the ass with affection in his voice and a smile on his lips? She could still remember those rare nights when he would murmur songlike rhymes under his breath to help her sleep.

They had been children on the run. All they had at that point had been one another. All she had known then was that she wanted him to stay at her side. It didn’t matter to _her_ that he was a bastard. She had taken to telling him stories about herself and Jon to prove her point. But in the end, the stubborn bull hadn’t been able to get over it.

_He was so stupid._

The gods had brought his stupid self back to her for whatever reason they possibly had. Her head still hurt from clenching her teeth in anger. His face. His stupid, _stupid_ face. He was real and she would have to face him, face her emotions. They had a war to fight. Both against the dead and against themselves.

Arya found herself outside of the master forge long after the moon had reached its peak in the sky. It was silent. Even the wolves had stopped howling. Night was coming to an end.

As silent as a shadow, she slipped into the master forge and past the evening shift of smiths who had surrounded the remaining fires as she found the sleeping quarters that were attached to the master building. With the fires burning in both the forge and the adjourning chambers, she wasn’t wanting for it. And there was something about the heat that made her feel comfortable, if not too comfortable.

What were these feelings that she couldn’t fight? The tightening in her chest and the twisting of her stomach brought a new sense of uneasiness.

It scared her.

Lifting the handle of the door that she had once known to be Mikken’s, Arya slipped into the room and had shut the door behind her without a noise. Her steady gaze adjusted to the lack of light as she identified the sleeping form on the cot in the middle of the room. The confusing feelings returned.

She should have poked him full of holes during their sparring session. He had wanted to leave her _then_ but there he was alive _now._ Arya felt a small piece of satisfaction as she moved closer and noticed the angry red lines across his bare chest and arms that had been made at her hand.

They were visible marks to her invisible scars.

Scars that had reopened when she had looked across the courtyard to see the idiot talking with her brother.

She hadn’t been able to explain the tangle of emotions at the time but she could appreciate the fact that he was in her home. He was there, in Winterfell, after all that time.

Arya sat on the edge of the bed despite what her brain was warning her against. Her eyes fell on his sleeping face and she fought the urge to smile. His hair was shorter than it had been on the run and even though it had been shorn short, it was still messier in his sleep than it had been that afternoon in the war room.  The line across his brow was furrowed, even in his sleep. He looked older, more tired.

Where had he been all these years?

She had leaned in to look at him more closely when his eyes opened, made dark by the lack of light in the room. Arya flinched and frowned at being caught but made no effort to move. Gendry raised a hand to his brow to rub the sleep from his eyes as he stifled a yawn. He was too comfortable with her. Shouldn’t he be more concerned? The relief she had felt at finding him safe was quickly replaced with a longingly familiar annoyance.

“Come to finish me off?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless all of you who continue to read this fic, especially when you take the chapter lengths into account. 
> 
> This fic continues to be how I imagined Season 8 should have gone if they had continued with the ten two hour long episodes that they had first been rumored to have filmed. As much as I love Arya and Sansa getting along, I support Arya, Sansa, and Dany getting along even more. 
> 
> I also have to stand behind the idea that Gendry would be able to get under Arya's skin, even after all of her time with the Faceless Men. He represents a time when she was transitioning into the fighter that she is now. Sansa and Jon would be adjusting to the fact that their younger sister was a trained fighter but to Gendry, she always has been one. 
> 
> Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Hit me with them. I always enjoy seeing what you have to say!


	7. Black and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry is forced into a confrontation with Arya and does his best to recover from their last sparring match, both physically and emotionally. In the meantime, there are dragonglass weapons to make and a lords' meeting to attend. 
> 
> Chapter Song - Black and Blue by The Vamps

 

** GENDRY **

 

It was the light shift of weight on the mattress that pulled Gendry from his sleep, though he seemed to know who was there before he even opened his eyes. Just as he had grown used to her presence while on the run, he seemed to somehow recognize her by the very sound of her breath, no matter how still she tried to be.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stifled a yawn while failing to suppress the grin that had started at the sight of her sitting there next to him. Arya Stark lowered her gray gaze into a glare, something that only added to his amusement.

“Come to finish me off?” He teased, thoroughly enjoying every moment of her being there simply because she had been the one to seek him out.

Arya frowned. “I nearly run a sword through you the other day and you’re not even _afraid_? _You’re teasing me_?”

Gendry continued to rub the sleep from his eyes. “If you wanted to hurt me, or kill me, then you would have done so. Sides,” he yawned once more, “you’re still too tiny to scare me, Ary.” There was a twisting in his chest at being able to call her Ary once more and he smiled.

Her cold demeanor fell with the stern expression she had held only to be replaced with a distraught frown that he wished he could make disappear.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, Gendry.” Her voice held a touch of sadness but he knew her comment wasn’t a threat.

“I don’t know _where you’ve been_.” He countered stubbornly.

“It’s a long story.”

Gendry moved to sit up so that he could lean back against the wall that the bed was pushed up against. He met Arya’s gaze briefly before looking around at the empty room. “I’m awake now. We have plenty of time.”

Arya frowned at his casual demeanor and he knew that she was just seconds away from calling him a bullheaded idiot.

“I’m still mad at you.”

He fought the intense urge to laugh, knowing that she probably _would_ drive Needle through him if he did laugh in that moment. Instead, he met her gaze. “You already sliced me up while sparring. Wasn’t that enough?”

“No,” she grumbled as she broke away from his gaze to stare down at the space between them.

 _Gods, I’m in trouble_. Gendry thought to himself. Years later and she still had a power over him. Rather than respond, he edged closer to the wall in order to make more room for her on the bed. The gesture seemed to irritate her, for Arya’s head snapped back up to glare at him again.

“How can you be so calm about this? You’ve been gone _for years_ , Gendry.”

“ _Because you’re alive, Arya_.” He said as if it was the easiest thing to understand. A muddle of emotions filled his stomach as he did his best to convey everything he was feeling just by meeting her gaze. They had used to been able to communicate silently. Could she understand what he was trying to say?

“Obviously.” Arya muttered as she broke eye contact to stare down at the mattress space between them. His gaze followed hers and settled on her hands that were twisted together in her lap. The urge to reach out to take her hands in his was strong but he fought to overcome it.

Arya’s hand twitched in return.

“I was stuck in King’s Landing for years thinkin’ you were dead.” He spoke when she looked back up at him. Her gaze bore into his own, heating him like the flames of the forge that he was so used to working in. She seemed to have her own reaction to his gaze and the closeness of their bodies after being apart for so long. Her skin looked flushed. His own heart was erratic.

_What is wrong with me?_

“Arya,” he breathed, saying her name just as he used to all those years before just to make sure that she was still safe and sleeping beside him. “You cutting me to bits was worth it.” _Stupid_. He thought to himself. _Idiot._

Her gaze dropped at his admission to where the collection of red marks across his chest were visible. A rush of heat raced through him as he watched her hand raise slowly, reaching out to touch the bruises that she had given him, before her hand fell and she frowned. He didn’t know if it was his attempt to explain himself or her own emotions that were adding to the confusion and jumbled feelings between them but he cursed both either way.

“Why Winterfell, Gendry?” Arya whispered, her voice as soft as the snow falling outside. “After all this time?” Though her tone was soft, it was also tight in her attempt to hide her own painful combination of feelings.

It was that pain that felt like a white hot dagger to the stomach. “I heard about the R-Red Wedding, about the Freys. I knew you were determined to get there.” A hard lump formed in his throat as he thought back to all the days he had spent staring at the wall as he failed to fall asleep after learning of the Northerners that had been slaughtered at the Twins. “I thought …”

“I’m not dead.”

“How could I have known?” His eyes had adjusted enough in the dim light to see that a painful glimmer was reflecting in her own gaze. “All I could do was work and train, which only made me angrier at what they had done. Then Davos came to m’shop goin’ on about Jon and I had to help your brother. T’honor you.”

Arya scoffed. “There’s no need to honor me.”

A silence settled between them as he did his best to uncover the meaning behind her own words. They had both been through a great deal in their time apart but she had clearly been through more. He sighed heavily and shifted on the bed. There were so many questions burning his tongue that he didn’t know how to begin. Gendry wondered briefly if she had her own questions before he finally managed to say what he had been wanting to ever since he had seen her fighting in the courtyard those days before.

“How did you survive, Arya?” It was an idiot question but he still had to hear the answer. She was a survivor, that was true, but she must have experienced something dark along the road that had brought her back to Winterfell. To hear the smiths talk, Arya had only arrived a few months after Jon had left for Dragonstone. All that time held so many answers.

If only she would share them.

The silence between them festered as Arya continued to twist her hands in a manner so unlike herself that he was becoming more concerned with each minute that passed. Gendry reached out to finally place his hand over her own and her head darted upwards in the surprise at his touch. Arya’s gray gaze bore into him as he did his best to tell her everything he wanted to say without saying a word.

_There are so many things that I regret. Can’t you see that? I regret asking to be a knight. I never would have stayed with the Brotherhood. Tell me what happened._

“Arya….” He murmured as he drew near, closing the space between them. As quick as a deer, Arya stood from the bed and moved to stand on the other side of the room.

“I had to fight, Gendry. Is that what you want to hear?” Her gray eyes were wild but her voice was bitter. “I had to _kill_. That’s what kept me alive. Everyone wanted Arya Stark dead and so I couldn’t be Arya. I had to Arry and Nan and Beth and **_so many others_**. I had to be No One, Gendry, and that’s how I survived.”

Everything she told him held another meaning that he didn’t yet understand. There was more to her story than just her fighting but she wasn’t able to tell him. He wondered if she would ever be able to tell anyone. Surely she would have already confided in her siblings? The thought of Arya trying to deal with her pain alone hurt more than any bruise coloring his body.

He wanted to help her.

So he stood from the bed and moved towards her, only for Arya to take three quick steps back away from him. Her eyes were wide and pleading. “No, Gendry. Please. Just…don’t.” She held up her hand and he stopped, letting her keep the space between them. “I…can’t.”

And with that, she turned and spun away from him as she slipped through the door. Gendry ran after her, forgetting that he was barefoot and shirtless after being waken in the middle of the night. He ran down the corridor that led back to the forge and stopped, gasping for air in the entryway. His eyes searched for her in the crowd of night workers scattered throughout the smithy but he knew that any attempt was useless.

Arya Stark was gone. Again.

And all he had were his bruises to remind him that the entire week hadn’t been one fever dream.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

Gendry woke with clouded thoughts and an aching body only a few hours after he had managed to force himself back to sleep. He had been working day and night ever since he had arrived and he was now starting to feel the effects of it. In the beginning, working had been a way to focus his thoughts away from how it felt to be in Arya’s childhood home but it had soon became a distraction from his thoughts about Arya herself.

He dressed and worked his way back to the forge. The cuts and bruises from their sparring session still smarted, though not as much as it did to remember that she had come to him in the middle of the night only to disappear once more.

 _‘She’s always disappearing_.’ Gendry thought bitterly as he set to work amongst the evening crew before dawn arrived. It was true. She had disappeared from King’s Landing only to disappear again in the Riverlands. Arya had been nothing more than a ghost of a memory until she had stood before him in the courtyard and left him so bruised and broken that it pained him to move, even days later.

But move he did.

There were weapons to forge and workers to help as the dawn came, though Gendry noted that the sun seemed to rise much later than it had in the days before. The Northmen often told stories of the first time the living had fought the dead and the days shortening until there was no light left seemed to be the topic of the morning.

“And it was only when the days faded into a permanent night that the dead descended upon the living.” A smith spoke to the other workers gathered around him. Gendry cleared his throat to announce his arrival and the workers jumped at the sound.

“Enough, Eyran.” Gendry growled as he silenced the worker with a glare. “We all know what’s coming for us. You’ve heard Lord Jon. There’s no need to get people all worked up when we should be focused on smithin’.” His glare was dark as he stared the younger smith down. “Stories won’t do any good but weapons will.”

“Aye.” An older voice spoke. Gendry turned to see Jorrel and his grandson standing a few feet away. “Yeh can tell stories till yer face is blue but it won’t stop the dead. Listen to Ser Gendry and get t’work. He’s the only one here that’s actually seen what’s comin’ for us.” The older smith nodded towards him as Gendry moved towards the long table to assess what had been made overnight. “The daughter’s on her way. Got caught in the kitchens askin’ ‘bout leather to spare.”

“She doesn’t have to do that.” Gendry protested as he held a freshly cut dagger close to his face to inspect the handle before he turned back to Jorrel. “I can go to Lord Jon and ask. Or Davos. He’ll –“

“What about me?” A gruff accent spoke and the old smuggler appeared. Gendry smiled.

“I was just saying that you’ll help us to get the supplies we need, with you being the lord’s advisor and all.”

“Good lot o’ advising I’ve done when the lad won’t listen.” Davos turned to look at Gendry. “You’re wanted in the hall. Jon and the Lady Sansa have called the lords and commanders together now that e’ryone is present.”

“Should be interestin’,” teased Jorrel. “Think any of ‘em will have a go at the Dragon Queen again? Heard Glover and the Lady Mormont gave good Jon an earful when they first arrived.”

“Aye, they did, but they won’t say anythin’ this time if they know what’s good for ‘em.” Davos looked to Gendry. “Come on and get yourself moving, son.”

Leaving Jorrel with instructions for the forge, Gendry reluctantly left the safety of the smithy and followed Davos across the main courtyard to where the lords and ladies had gathered in the hall. Given everything that had happened in recent days, he was reluctant to spend any time outside of the forge if it meant that he would only be bombarded with questions about Arya.

Thankfully, the hall was loud with conversation and served as a new distraction. Lords and ladies from across the north had ventured to Winterfell once Lady Sansa had called the banners and even though they had been arriving for weeks, Gendry could see that a good number were still unhappy to see Queen Daenerys sitting beside the man that they had elected to be their king. He had spent enough time in the forge to heave heard the northerner’s frustrations. How could they hope to keep their independence if the queen they were fighting beside was the one who wanted to rule them all?

He followed Davos as the advisor made his way across the hall and towards the table closest to the front, trying to shake the awe that had settled in his chest at the sight of so many lords and ladies gathered in one place. Gendry recognized a few faces from those that had traveled with them from White Harbor but he continued to look about the hall until he found the person that he was really looking for.

Arya was standing next to her sister and younger brother along the far wall. At the sound of Jon calling the lords to order, she moved to stand against the opposite corner behind the lord’s table. It was a better vantage point and he knew that she would want to watch anyone and everyone from her position in the shadows. He did his best not to stare in her direction in those first few minutes but his attention always seemed to be drawn back to her. A spark of frustration stung him when she refused to meet his gaze for the second time since he had entered the hall. She was purposely ignoring him once again.

The disgruntled conversation between the lords died down as Jon rose, quieting the room by raising his hand. Gendry watched, always impressed by the way the man had been able to command a room.

The Warden of the North cleared his throat loudly before he began.

“As you all know by now, the Wall has fallen and the Night King marches south. My sisters called you here for your own safety and for you to fulfill the pledge that was made when we took my father’s home back from the Boltons. The true war is now on the horizon. We do not know how much time we have left but we do know that they are coming.” Jon’s gaze darkened and his fists clenched as he looked back out amongst the lords. “It has taken weeks for us all to get here but we are still not safe. The dead are marching south and families from your lands continue to flee to Winterfell. Now is the time for every man and woman to be assessed, for our weapons to be counted, and for our commanders to be chosen. We must have a plan that will help us to fight for living, because the dead cannot, and _they will not_ take it from us. Am I right?”

A chorus of cheers carried through the hall. For the briefest of moments, Gendry wondered if this was what it had been like when his father had joined forces with Ned Stark to declare war on the Mad King all those years ago. Had his father been able to command a knight’s attention like that?

Jon glanced at Daenerys before he began to speak once more. “Some of you have already voiced your opinion on the alliance between myself and Queen Daenerys. I will have no more questions about my decision. Her armies and her dragons will help us to win this war and it is the only war that matters. Even the armies of the River Lords have pledged themselves to our cause and they are riding north as I speak.” It did not go unnoticed by Gendry that Jon said nothing of the Lannister army, though he knew it was another hot conversation throughout the castle. Many refused to believe that Cersei Lannister would sacrifice even one soldier to the cause and Gendry couldn’t argue against them.

It was now Daenerys’ turn to speak.

“You have all answered the call and traveled far from your homes to face this threat and for that, I respect you. We cannot know when the Army of the Dead will arrive but by answering Lady Sansa’s call to arms, you have given us time to prepare.” The lords and ladies were silent at Daenerys’ declaration. Their uncertainty about her was still evident in the way that faces all across the hall turned to glare at the Dragon Queen.

Clearly looking to relieve some of the tension that had settled between Daenerys and the lords, Lady Sansa stood from where she now sat at the table between her brothers. “Your fighters may be called to help in preparation of what is coming. Commander Royce is working alongside the Unsullied to fortify our stronghold. Strengthening our defenses is one of our top priorities. Just as forging weapons is. Smiths are working night and day.”

“There is a great need for dragonglass weapons.” Daenerys continued. Gendry looked from Jon to Arya to gauge their reactions to how both Daenerys and Sansa seemed to be getting along so well in that moment but his train of thought was lost when he heard his own name. “Lord Jon’s Weaponry Commander is Ser Gendry.” He felt his face flush as many of the lords turned to face him, Jon and Arya included. Both Starks appeared unsettled by the fact that the queen had called attention to him. “If you are asked to provide extra hands for the forge, please honor his requests.” Gendry was thankful when Daenerys began to speak once more and the attention turned back to her. “If we can all agree to work together then we will be better prepared for when the Night King arrives.”

“And what happens when he does?” A lord called out form the back of the hall. “How do you fight the dead?”

“With fire and dragonglass.” Jon responded calmly.

“SO this dragonglass really works?” An older woman called out from a few seats away.

“It does.” Sansa answered back.

“But how do you know?” Another lord spoke from where he had stood from his seat. “You spent nearly a year in the south looking for that. How many of you have even seen it work?”

“I have.” Jon’s voice was firm in a tone that made it clear nobody was to question him. “I fought them beyond the Wall more than once, with people in this very room. Believe me when I say that the Night King should be _our only focus_ , my lords.”

But the lords would have none of it. This was the first time they had all gathered since the Battle of the Bastards. It was the first time they had been around one another to feed off their own discontent and to fuel the outrage that had been seething below the surface ever since their King in the North had sailed south only to bend the knee. Gendry had learned a lot by working in the forge. And just as he had come to understand how the people of King’s Landing had felt towards the Lannister queen, he was beginning to understand the people of the north too.

Gendry looked to Arya in that moment and her gaze locked with his own for the first time that morning. The way that her lips were pursed and her brow arched told him she was just as annoyed as he was. He gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders as he tilted his head in the general direction of the lords. Arya then rolled her eyes, confirming her annoyance with her fellow Northerners. The blacksmith took a small piece of comfort from their silent interaction. The way she had rolled her eyes reminded him of all the times that she had done it while they had been on the run.

There was still a piece of the Ary that he remembered making herself known.

Through their silent communication, the lords had begun to argue their point once more, each new one shouting overtop the other. Gendry had a hard time working out which lord was which but their frustration was clear in the way that they publically denounced Jon’s decision to bend the knee, much like Davos had said they had when the queen had first arrived ahead of the supply train. Gendry looked to Arya only for her to turn away and step up behind her sister, her fist clenched around the hilt of her sword in anger.

It was Jon’s voice that cut through the rest in a hoarse shout.

“I will not repeat myself!” The Warden of the North exclaimed as he looked from the queen at his side to the lords gathered before them.

It was Arya who spoke next. Her gray gaze was dark with a clear frustration. “There is no point in this. Arguing over what may happen won’t matter if we can’t defeat the Night King and his army because then we’ll all be dead and the Night King will sit on the throne.”

Lady Sansa agreed. “Our brother called you here to ensure that you all understood the threat that we face. Now that the dead have breached the Wall, we must be ready and we must be united.” She raised her chin as she continued. “We are the people of the North and we will protect all of the Seven Kingdoms in this upcoming battle. We cannot afford to lose and because of that, we cannot afford to argue amongst ourselves. This must stop.”

Tensions across the room seemed to calm with the way that Lady Sansa had addressed them all in her cool and steady tone. The woman’s dark blue eyes were locked in a cold expression that would have chilled any heat of frustration. The lords may have felt comfortable speaking out against their lord but it was clear that none would speak out against their lady.

And so the arguing stopped.

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

It wasn’t long after the lords’ meeting that Gendry found himself in the armory in search of items that could be repurposed. The lords and ladies had brought their own weapons but they were hesitant to allow for any good steal to be discarded in the process of arming everyone with dragonglass. Because of this, Gendry had set the woodworkers to cutting staffs and tanners to wrapping the ends of the daggers in toughened leather, just as Samwell Tarly said that the First Men had done.

He felt uncertain about being in the armory without a knight to tell him what he was and wasn’t allowed to take, despite how Jon had assured him everything was to his disposal. And there was also the fact that technically he was standing in _Arya’s armory_ , given that her brother had made her Master-at-Arms. Gendry couldn’t help but to smirk at thought. His workers often came into the smithy after their practice with her complaining of their sore muscles and the ruthless way she had persisted in their training. They would say something about her fighting skills that only made Gendry want to practice with her more. There had been an ease in the way they sparred in the courtyard those days before. And even though she had left him with a bruised heart after she had run out of his room that night before, he was still dying for the chance to talk with her once more.

Because he wasn’t going to let her get away with how she had been acting. He had decided that in the meeting with the lords. They had depended on and protected one another for years. They had been best friends. Nothing either of them had lived through would be able to erase how they were still able to communicate without saying a word. The fact alone meant a great deal to him and he wasn’t going to let her push him away.

“We need to talk.”

Gendry shifted at the voice and turned to see Jon Snow standing behind him. Jon’s face was stern and he suddenly felt uneasy at the hard gray gaze settled on him. Had something happened in the few hours since the meeting? Gendry’s stomach dropped at the thought of how Arya had run out of his room the night before. Had another smith seen and voiced his concerns to Jon or Sansa?

“We need to talk about Arya.” Jon repeated, shaking Gendry to the core.

The two men stood facing one another. Neither wanted to speak first because neither knew how to discuss what they should be talking about, what _they needed_ to talk about. Their lives were knitted together much more tightly than either had realized. The surprise of Arya being alive and her having known Gendry in the years before had already changed the friendship that had been growing between them.

“You could have told me.” The former King in the North said softly after finally growing impatient with the Baratheon’s silence.

Gendry looked away from the lord, his eyes darting nervously to the armory door.

“Not who you were expecting?” Jon asked, his eyes bright with teasing.

The blacksmith’s face flushed and he knew that he had given away his answer. Doing his best to ignore his friend, Gendry turned back to the collection of abandoned pole staffs that he would hope to refit with dragonglass.

“Did you really plan to not tell me you knew her?” Jon asked a few minutes later.

“What was I supposed t’say, Jon?” Gendry defended as he turned back to face the lord. He could feel his frustration growing. “Something like ‘I knew your sister and I’m pretty sure she’s dead but let’s be friends?’ Nah. Not the best way to convince someone to trust ya.”

“Gods, you must’ve spent a while with her if you caught the Stark snark.”

“I’ve spent a lot o’ time with you too, Snow.”

A silence fell between them but Gendry knew Jon couldn’t truly be angry with him now. Jon’s smile confirmed his suspicions. “Thank you, for keepin’ her safe.”

Gendry’s thoughts grew distant as he did his best to swim through the river of memories that swarmed his mind. He shrugged. “We kept each other safe, t’be honest.”

“Then why’d you ask to stay with Beric?”

Gendry blinked repeatedly at him, as if his reason should have been obvious.

“I was a lowborn bastard tyrin’ to be a man and my best friend was your sister, a lady of Winterfell, a _Princess of the North_. Why do you think I asked?”

Jon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He had been raised a bastard, just as Gendry had. But while Jon had been raised in Winterfell with his family, Gendry had been struggling to survive in Flea Bottom. What did Jon know of class difference? He had been raised as an acknowledged son of a lord.

Gendry hadn’t even been acknowledged. Until recently.

Shrugging away his own frustrations, he moved away from where he had been mentally cataloguing the number of weapons available. He turned to face Jon, knowing that his friend still had a great deal of unanswered questions. It seemed to be a reoccurring theme around Winterfell those days. Unable to voice his own concerns, Gendry moved to leave.

“I found Arya in the godswood.” Jon began abruptly, bringing Gendry to a stop.

“Aye. She used to train when she wanted quiet.” He mused, recalling all the times that he had found her near the edge of their camp, palms blistered from the sword he had stolen from Harrenhal. Hot Pie had never understood her need to practice at odd hours but for Gendry, it was the same as when he would wake in the middle of the night and felt the need to be in the forge. Just like he had the urge to do then.

“She hardly knew how t’hold a sword when I gave her Needle.” Jon’s voice was low and distant as he imagined another lifetime. “Did you know our father let her train in King’s Landing?” He was following Gendry down the corridor now, though the smith doubted the lord even know where they were headed.

“She didn’t talk of your father … at first. She hardly talked at all ‘til I called her out on being a girl.”

Jon chuckled. “Bet she took that well.”

It was Gendry’s turn to laugh. He could still feel the flush of embarrassment as he remembered his own words to her. “She was a pain in my arse.” He spared a glance in Jon’s direction as they stepped out into the dim light of the courtyard. There was a clear look of longing on the young man’s face, as if he was wishing for the past, for better days. Gendry felt a rush of guilt bolt through him as he realized that, given everything that had occurred, he must hold a better understand of who Arya was than her own siblings did.

Just as Sansa had said the other day. She was just trying to understand her own sister. Gendry knew of the pain Arya had been in when she had been forced from King’s Landing but her siblings didn’t. There was something about being on the run and depending on one another that had brought them together. In that time, before he had been sold to the Red God, they had become so used to one another that they hadn’t even needed words to speak. Arya was a different person than she had been but at least he still felt as if he understood her.

Jon, however, didn’t seem to be able to understand anything and he was clearly frustrated. Gendry released a sigh. Arya would probably kill him for talking about their time together but Jon was his friend too.

He inhaled before speaking, just as they had come to the forge. He could hear the familiar ring of metal against obsidian as the other smiths worked to finish their daily quota. Turning back to Jon, he gave his friend what he hoped was a comforting smile. “She’ll kill me for talking about her with you.”

“She’s already almost killed you.” Jon reasoned.

“True.” Gendry rubbed at the deepest cut to his arm that Arya had given him. It was still tender with a brilliant bruise but it helped to remember all the other times that he had worn a bruise caused by her hand. He thought of acorn dressed and tumbling on the floor of a smithy before he shook his head sharply. Those were stories that _Jon_ would kill him for. Refocusing quickly, he settled on a starting point for their conversation. “Your sister wasn’t allowed to be Arya Stark when she escaped. She hid everythin’ about herself, even her being a girl, until I called ‘er out on it ‘n’ she trusted me to say who she was.”

“What was it like? On the run?” Jon questioned. Gendry had greeted the smiths before he set to work at the larger anvil that stood in the center of the smithy.

“Rough.” Gendry admitted easily. “We were cold, dirty, starvin’ kids. She had my back. I had hers. The goldcloaks were after a bastard named Gendry and every Lannister was after a girl named Arya Stark.” He turned away from the raised fire pit to look back at his friend. “Fighting is what kept her going, Jon. It’s what kept us alive. Her anger at the world was a driving factor. We survived the goldcloaks and bandits and unbelievable nightmares because your sister _refused_ to let the God of Death take us.”

“The God of Death?” Jon’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

Gendry nodded. “Aye. She told me of her dancin’ master, a Braavosi teaching her to fight.” He couldn’t help but to smile at the memory of Arya practicing with the sword he had stolen for her. “’ _What do we say to the God of Death?’_ is what she’d whisper all the time.”

Jon’s face was pale. “And what _do_ you say?”

Gendry smirked. “Not today.” The grin had reached his eyes, his gaze filled with bright memories of a feisty young girl. “She’d have me repeat it back, especially when we had been captured and she was sure the Brotherhood was gonna have us killed.”

“But what about a list?” Jon demanded, revealing his true reason for their conversation. A chill ran through Gendry at the mention of it. Arya’s list had been something that she had never spoken of openly but he had heard her whisper it night after night. Her thirst for justice had been clear in everything she did. He could still remember when she had admitted to being behind the three deaths at Harrenhal.

He couldn’t betray her confidence, not fully. It was clear in the way she had held herself in the first council meeting that she had somehow made her way to Braavos and that she wasn’t ready to discuss it. Gendry fought with himself as he turned back to focus on shaping the cut of dragonglass that had been warmed from the fire.

Except Jon was too impatient.

“What is it about this list?” The Warden of the North demanded once more.

Gendry paused and set down his hammer as he turned to face his friend. “Right.” He sighed and closed his eyes briefly, sending a prayer out that Arya wouldn’t actually kill him. He sighed. “Arya has a kill list.”

“ _A kill list?_ My little sister has a _kill list_?” Gendry flinched, instantly regretting his decision. Arya coming to his room in the middle of the night had messed with his sense of reason. He inhaled deeply before he allowed himself to continue.

“Not a kill list…exactly. Just…a list.” He cursed himself for even saying something in the first place. Arya was going to show up at his door with Needle in hand to personally skewer him for saying anything to her brother. But a part of him was reminded of all that Arya had put him through emotionally since he had arrived in Winterfell and that part wouldn’t stay silent. “It’s a list of people who wronged her, or your family. Cersei and Joffrey were on it. The Hound was on it too. Arya talked of him killing her friend.” Gendry stopped to remember Hollow Hill and everything that seemed to fall apart from there. “But he’s still walking around and telling me to keep my mouth shut so I don’t know. I just know she repeated it. Night after night.”

“The Hound…” Jon seemed a bit slow to process everything, though Gendry couldn’t blame him.

“She’s still your sister, Jon.” Gendry assured him. “Today in the meeting, Arya rolled her eyes at the lords and I just… she’s still Arya.” He couldn’t stop himself from talking at this point. It felt _good_ to be able to talk about Arya with someone. Davos had only mentioned her once time since the incident in the courtyard and he dropped the line of questioning when Gendry had asked him to. But now he was ready to talk, after months of keeping silent about everything.

“I just wish she was able to talk with me.” Jon answered dejectedly.

Gendry thought back to how it had felt for Arya to run away from him after they had been reunited in the courtyard. He thought of how she had avoided everyone in the days after only for her to ignore him completely in the council meeting. Then he thought of how she had come to his room in the middle of the night only to disappear a few moments later.

“I know.” Gendry agreed, his voice rough with his own frustration. “I know.”

. . .                   . . .                   . . .

Hours after Jon had left him to his work in the forge, Gendry finally retreated upstairs to his room once he had instructed the night crew on what they were expected to make in the upcoming twelve hours. He was exhausted from the work and the lack of sleep that he had gotten the night before. The bed in the corner of the small room was a welcome sight after his muscles had long begun to ache and he knew that he would only be able to manage a few hours rest before he’d be back in the forge, starting the cycle all over.

Gendry didn’t bother to undress properly. He left his woolen shirt, leather jerkin, and quilted kilt at the foot of the bed and climbed beneath the rough wool blankets that he had left to warm near the fire as he washed the soot and ash from his face and chest, wincing whenever the cloth dipped over one of the bruises that were slowly starting to heal. His thoughts strayed to the woman who had given him the black and blue bruises. The cuts from Needle would soon turn to fresh scars, matching the ones he had gathered from years on the run. He thought of the heated glare that Arya had given him when he had first called her m’lady after their years apart and a smile spread across his face.

His smile faltered when someone began to beat furiously against his door. The blacksmith swore and tossed the cloth back into the washbin, moving to cross the room. Before he had even reached the door, he knew who was standing on the other side.

Arya Stark stood in the back corridor of the forge with her arms crossed and wide gray eyes dark with anger. Upon him opening the door, she shoved past him and forced her way into his room.

“You told Jon about my list?”

“Nice of you to knock this time.” Gendry mused as he shut the door behind her and turned to see her fierce glare directed at him.

“Of all the **_stupid_** things you’ve done, _Gendry Waters_ , this—“

“This what?” He refused to let her force him into questioning his choice. “Jon is my friend, Arya. He’s upset because he thinks he doesn’t know who his own sister is. Someone must’ve mentioned it to ‘im because he found me and started asking a bunch o’ questions. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him?”

“Yes!” She nearly shouted. It was the most upset he had seen her since they had been sparring in the courtyard those days before. That encounter had left him bleeding and bruised black and blue. He was starting to think that this night would end the same.

The blacksmith could only raise an eyebrow in response. His patience before had been a result of his own shock at seeing her alive after all those years but after being in Winterfell and seeing the stress that she caused her siblings, the siblings she had said she had _missed_ , he wasn’t going to let her back him into a corner. Gendry crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back against the door, knowing that his casual reaction would only make her angrier. Arya may have returned as a stranger but there was still something that allowed him to get under her skin.

And Arya knew it too.

She exhaled loudly and turned away from him in her anger. She was glaring at the wall instead when she started to speak again. “You can’t just go off spouting stories about our time together.”

“You just don’t like that you can’t control what I tell your siblings.” Arya turned slightly to glare from over her shoulder and he knew he was right. “Go on. Admit it, _m’lady_.”

Arya had closed the distance between them and shoved him back into the wall before he had been able to draw breath. Her eyes were dark with a mix of anger and something else that he swore he could only be imagining. Her forearm was pressed to his chest, digging her elbow into his ribs as she glared at him. “It’s _private_ , Gendry.” Her voice was a whisper.

She took a step back and her arm fell to her side. Arya’s anger visibly disappeared as she seemed to somehow grow smaller in stature. She made it to his bed and sat down with a sigh. He suddenly regretted everything that he had said to her in those few short minutes since she had come barging into his room. Arya was obviously struggling with it all just as he was.

Gendry moved to sit next to her on the bed but remained silent. It wasn’t his turn to speak.

And so they sat in the dim light of the room as Arya did her best to process everything she had been feeling when she first confronted him. She could only stare down at her boots when she finally managed to speak.

“Those years … I’ve never told anyone about them. Sansa had questions about training. Jon just had questions. And Bran,” Arya sighed and rolled her eyes at the thought of her brother. “Bran just knows everything. But I didn’t _have to_ answer anything until you got here. Then suddenly Sansa’s going to you for answers and apparently you can’t keep your mouth shut around Jon.” He bit back a smirk at the jibe because it was well deserved. Arya turned slightly so that she could meet his gaze. “It’s just … difficult, answering questions.”

He could understand. When Sansa and Jon had first confronted him after the scene in the training yard, he had been unable to answer their questions. A part of him still felt as if he was taking something away from what existed between himself and Arya but he had grown close to Jon in their months traveling. There was no way of knowing how much time any of them had before the Night King turned his army on Winterfell. He didn’t want to spend that time answering pointless questions.

“Jon just wants to know who you are, Arya.”

She began to worry her lip once more, her white teeth standing out against the pink flush of her mouth. Her voice was small, so unlike herself that it pained him when she spoke again.

“I don’t think I know who I am.”

“That’s a lie.” He called her out but spoke softly in turn. “You’re Arya Stark. You always have been, even when you hid it. You’re different, yeah. But you’re still Arya.” Gendry had turned to face her now and her gray eyes was staring up at him with a dozen different emotions swirling behind her clouded gaze. 

“I want to tell you.” She whispered, almost as if she were afraid that he would run before she could even begin to explain. “But I don’t know how.”

There were so many things that he wanted to say in that moment, so many different ways he wanted to assure her that everything would be alright, that it didn’t matter what she had done because she would always be his friend. But she was there, sitting so close to him, and his brain seemed to have melted like snow near a flame. Gendry could only stare back and watch as his hand seemed to move on its own, reaching out to brush the loose hair back from her face. “You will.” He heard himself murmur.

Arya’s smile brought him out of his daze. She briefly leaned in to the palm of his hand before she turned to rest her head against his arm with a sigh. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She slipped her hand around his arm to bring their bodies closer together as her cheek rested just below his shoulder. “You just make me so angry.”

“Always have.” Gendry teased, surprising himself. “It’s just another thing that hasn’t changed.”

He couldn’t help liking the way it felt to have her arm wrapped under and around his, to have the side of her body pressed against his. He tilted his head to the side and leaned in to rest his atop her own, inhaling the herbal scent of her hair that somehow brought back so many different memories, even after all these years. She seemed to smell of river water and wildflowers, of acorns and crabapples. For a moment, they were back in the Riverlands resting together before the morning that would come all too soon. He sighed. “Arya, when you want to talk, talk with me.” He swallowed and cursed himself internally. “I mean, I meant – You can talk with me.”

“I know that, stupid.” Arya murmured as she buried her face in the crook of his arm. Gendry grew warm at the feeling of her pressed against the bare skin of his body. They were much too close but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It had been coming on slowly but he now knew that something was different. The Arya he had met in the training yard would never allow herself to sit next to him like this. It gave him hope for the days to come. Hope that she would be able to reveal her past so that they could talk into the dawn like they had all those years before when it had been them against the world. It was the most comforting thing he had felt in months.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, side by side with his resting atop her own, but he could feel the weight of sleep drawing over him until he couldn’t fight it any longer and is eyes closed in exhaustion.

Only for Arya’s whisper to wake him.

“Gendry,” she whispered and he opened his eyes slowly. His body was slumped against hers and she was smiling up at him. “I’m going back to my rooms.” She reached up and her fingers brushed his cheek. “Thank you.” He watched silently as Arya disentangled her arm from his and stood, reaching up on the tips of her toes as she stretched her stiff muscles. “You know, Jon had Sansa find you a room in the castle.” She turned so that she was now standing so close in front of where he still sat on the edge of the bed that her legs were brushing against his knees. “I wouldn’t have to go so far the next time.”

“The next time?” He murmured, the sleep having slowed his response time.

Arya smirked and leaned in to trace the bruises that colored the top of his chest. Gendry felt a rush of heat through his body and suddenly he was wide awake. “We’ll have to spar again soon.” She murmured as her fingers traced along a cut near his collarbone. Her eyes seemed so bright even in the darkened room. “Goodnight, Gendry.”

And just as she had the night before, Arya turned quickly and was gone, leaving a very confused Gendry Waters behind. His own hand came up to trace the same cut that Arya’s fingers had been touching only a few moments before. That was twice now that she had appeared in the middle of the night only to disappear a short while later.

He couldn’t help but to wonder if it all was somehow just a fever dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are fantastic, did you know that? My work schedule (60+hrs/week) makes it so difficult to update on a regular basis but everyone has just been so positive with everything that I could never abandon this. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that nothing seemed *too* out of character. Arya and Gendry are both more emotionally mature than they were in the Riverlands, hopefully they'd be able to try and express themselves more. But of course, they still get on each other's nerves. :D


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